


In A Permanent State

by sidewinder



Category: Foo Fighters, The Police
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Established Relationship, Gothic, Italy, Love Triangle, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time after the end of the Reunion Tour, Sting invites Stewart and Taylor for a vacation visit to his estate in Tuscany. But something strange is going on at Il Palagio - something that could threaten not just Stewart and Taylor's relationship but their lives as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU spin-off from my ["Sex and the Single Drummer"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/13215) universe, something that began as a silly idea but turned into a bit more than I'd bargained for at the start. You don't need to have read those other stories to enjoy this one, however.
> 
> Disclaimer: This work is entirely fictional. It never happened. Nothing is meant to be implied about the "real people" named in this story, and no malice is intended. It is all pure fantasy dreamed up by the author, not meant to be viewed as factual by any stretch of the imagination.

_Maybe you get what you wanted, maybe you stumbled upon it_  
 _Everything you ever wanted, in a permanent state..._  
\- "White Shadows", Coldplay

I.

Sometimes Stewart felt as though he was the only person who understood Sting. Other times, he felt certain the only thing he knew for sure was that no one could really understand Sting at all.

But of the things Stewart knew without doubt concerning his (former? current? forever-whatever) bandmate, one was that he had never managed to truly embrace the digital age. This condition particularly manifested itself when it came to methods of communication. While all of Stewart's other associates and friends could easily be reached with a text message or a few clicks of the keyboard, Sting remained forever more elusive and hard to contact. Computers had never been his thing, at least outside of the studio--and were only utilized there as absolutely necessary and by someone other than Stingo himself. Only his vast army of personal assistants ever bothered to check or respond to any email sent his way. Landline phones and faxes were more his communication instruments of choice, though he was even known, on rare occasion, to resort to that ancient artifact known as the hand-written _letter_ when he had something truly significant to say.

Which was why, when Stewart picked up his mail one particular morning and saw the envelope addressed in an instantly familiar handwriting, he put all else aside (save a fresh cup of coffee) and retreated to his office to see what his old friend had to say.

No ripping this missive open haphazardly at the seal, either. Stewart had a fondness for certain ancient things and rituals himself. To properly complete the ceremony, he retrieved an antique letter opener from his desk, one which had belonged to his father and had no doubt opened many weighty documents in the past--some of which, Stewart sometimes thought, might have done the world good to have never been opened. The cream-colored envelope was heavy, made of fine quality paper; the letter inside it, precisely folded in three, was of a matching color and heft. Stewart unfolded it carefully and sat back in his chair to read the undated, brief message inside, ever so neatly and precisely penned.

 _My dear Stewart,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. You must forgive me for my long silence these past months--I assure you it was not out of malice or disinterest, despite how we may have left things when we last spoke. In actual fact you have been in my thoughts quite frequently but circumstances have made it difficult for me to keep in touch as I'd wished._

 _Life has taken some unexpected turns for me in recent days. I would love nothing more than the chance to tell you of these things, and more, but I feel doing so in person would be best. Could you be convinced to join me in Italy for a week, perhaps longer? Taylor is most welcome to come as well, I would enjoy spending time in both of your company._

 _Yours truly,_   
_Sting_

Stewart read it through, several times, before making comment. "Well. That's a little...weird," he said to himself.

"What's weird?"

Stewart looked up and found Taylor standing in the entry to the office. Sleepy-eyed and in nothing but his shorts, with his own mug of coffee in hand, the sight of him made for a welcome bright contrast to the dark, odd mood of Sting's letter.

"A letter that just arrived. From Sting."

"If it's from Sting of course it's weird." Taylor yawned and scratched his stomach, then took a sip of his coffee. "Can I see?"

"Be my guest." Stewart held out the letter and Taylor walked over to the desk, sitting on the edge of it while he read the brief note. "Ooh-kay," he said slowly. "So what do you think he wants?"

"A visit. _That_ at least I thought was pretty simple to ascertain."

"Yeah, yeah, but what does he _really_ want?" Taylor pressed. "I know Sting, and you _sure_ as hell know him. What's it been, like, months since you last heard from him? Longer?"

"We've hardly talked since the end of the tour."

"That's what I thought. And now he wants you to come see him in Italy? Something must be up."

"Without doubt. But the question is what." Stewart frowned, leaning back in his chair and tapping his right palm with the smooth side of letter opener. "I suppose there's only one way to find out."

"You're gonna go?"

"I'll have to clear my schedule and make sure he's serious about this, but...you will come with me, won't you? I know you're supposed to start rehearsals soon..."

"Dude, of course I'm coming," Taylor answered without hesitation.

"I didn't think you'd be so excited by the prospect."

"I'm not. But I don't trust that motherfucker."

 _And sometimes I probably trust him more than I should,_ Stewart thought. And that was exactly why he was glad he wouldn't be making the trip alone.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Sting had offered to arrange for a car pick them up at the airport, but Stewart had preferred to hire a rental and pray the maps he'd downloaded for his GPS were close enough to accurate to get them where they needed to go.

Sting's Italian retreat, the estate known as "Il Palagio," was located just about forty kilometers from Florence. The only nearby civilization was the tiny village Figline Valdarno, and a few old farms and estates mostly populated by other British ex-pats--but none so vast and extravagant as Sting's, of course.

Their phone conversation to confirm plans for this visit had not done much to ease the odd feeling Stewart had about what could have prompted Sting's invitation. Not that Sting had sounded poorly, more that he'd been...unfailingly polite, and not willing to discuss anything significant until Stewart and Taylor arrived in person.

 _"There's too much to talk about to get into it on the phone, Stewart. You'll have to come here yourself."_

 _"You won't give me even a hint? A clue? A tiny smidgen of information?"_

 _"Only that I'll be very happy to see you both. I'm sure we have a great deal to catch up on."_

 _"Okay, fine, Mister Mysterious. Give Trudie and the kids my regards until we get there to see them, too."_

 _"I would but they're in England right now. It will just be the three of us next week."_

 _"Are you sure that's wise? No one of a kinder disposition around to intervene when you and I end up at each other's throats?"_

Sting had laughed a little at that.

 _"For once, I don't think that will be a problem, love."_

 _Just what are you scheming, Stingo..._ the thought ran through Stewart's mind as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, the silence in the car save the blowing of the air-conditioner giving his brain too much time to keep pondering this question.

Taylor, for his part, had dozed off in the passenger seat next to him soon after they'd left the airport, unsurprising as he'd been restless and fidgety through most of the fourteen hours they'd been in transit already. They'd left Los Angeles mid-afternoon, and here it was a day later, with afternoon sunlight flickering through the silvery leaves of olive trees and between stately pines scattered through the country hills as they moved away from Florence. Stewart wanted to nudge Taylor to wake up and take in the surroundings, but he knew they had a week to do so coming up, and the real impressive sights still lay ahead once they arrived at Sting's estate.

Stewart didn't fault Taylor for his restlessness on the flight as he'd been feeling much the same way, himself. Almost a year had passed since the final Police show of their mammoth reunion tour, and an almost equal amount of time had passed since the Foos had finished their last large-scale tour as well. The months that had followed had provided a welcome chance to rest and relax for both men and the time to try to find some kind of normalcy again, even as the future presented many uncertain possibilities. The Foos had decided on an extended break to pursue other projects, with Taylor working on a new album and getting ready to start touring soon with his own band. Stewart had spent much of his time working on a long-promised and pondered book, which was now in the hands of his editors and awaiting final word on its release.

All in all, it had been a pleasant and--for a glorious change of pace-- _quiet_ time, especially after the tour which had consumed his life for most the two previous years. As wonderful as the experience had been, finally having that opportunity to "finish" things right with Sting and Andy, it had also been a hard lesson in why Stewart didn't want to have that kind of life full-time any longer. The dizziness of living on the road, the pressure to deliver a solid performance every night, the loss of his personal _and_ artisticfreedom--all of these things had left him _very_ relieved when the tour had concluded and in no rush to do it over again any time soon.

There had also been the fact that so much of the time up to that point that he and Taylor had been together had been spent in constant motion, with both of them rarely in the same place for more than a few weeks at a stretch. It had been pleasing to find that in spending significantly more time together this past year, they hadn't driven each other crazy but in fact had solidified their relationship, reinforcing it as a necessary part of both of their lives. Taylor still kept his own residence, mostly for recording in his studio and as a place for friends to crash, or for his band to stay while rehearsing, but he had basically settled into Stewart's house at this point. It was a move which had made the place really begin to feel like a home after all of this time, having truthfully been too much house for one person until then.

 _How Stingo keeps up with seven? eight? however-many-now homes is beyond me, even with all of his brood._ One house was enough for Stewart, although he still entertained the thought of getting a small place somewhere further south in Italy, a nice little getaway retreat for when the L.A. scene got tiresome and tedious. Maybe he'd ask Sting for the name of a good broker, Stewart mused to himself--although his first priority had to remain getting to the heart of Sting's invitation to come visit. Things had been a little...tense...the last time they'd spoken, in finishing up some tour-related commitments and releases. As usually was the case, Stewart had said a few things he probably shouldn't have, Sting had responded in kind, and the next thing he'd known it had all blown itself out of proportion and been passed on to their respective "people" to settle matters accordingly. Not exactly the way Stewart had wanted to end things, but perhaps the only way things between them _ever_ ended.

And that still didn't explain what this invitation was all about.

One possibility refused to vacate Stewart's thoughts, even as he knew it was a long shot and he wasn't sure if it left him feeling more excitement or dread.

 _Maybe he had a real change of heart. Maybe he wants to get the band back together again, this time for an album, for something new._

Stewart had been eager when the idea of some new material had been bandied about early on in the tour rehearsals and performances. It had been a tantalizing piece of bait Sting had cast out every so often to hook him and Andy more solidly into the project, but then he never reeled it back in and delivered the goods. And as the tour had progressed, Stewart had begun to wonder at the possibility that such a project could ever succeed, what with how far the three of them had drifted apart musically through the many years since they'd been in a band together. It had been a difficult enough challenge to pull together again and compromise on the old songs they _used_ to play; what would it take to do the same on anything new? And just how much could either he or Andy allow themselves to let Sting call all the final shots, as they both knew would be the way things would have to go?

So when Sting had finally given a definitive "no" to the idea, Andy had still been rather disappointed, but Stewart had felt more relieved than anything else. There were so many projects and ideas of his own he was only now beginning to get back to seriously, sometimes he wondered if he'd ever have time to get to them all, let alone add a new Police record onto that pile.

Even so, if Sting _had_ changed his mind, and had brought him here to discuss some new project? Stewart knew he would have a hard time turning him down, even _with_ all the challenges, frustrations and fighting that would no doubt be involved. Because Stewart had one major weakness, one thing he could never get out of his blood entirely, and that was the thrill of making music with that insanely infuriating, egotistical, flawed yet brilliant, beautiful bastard from Newcastle.

 **"Take the first left at the roundabout."**

Interrupted from his musings by the monotone voice of the GPS system, Stewart checked the navigator's display and saw they were only ten minutes away from their destination.

 _Guess I might as well stop worrying about what's going on. Should know soon enough what the real story is._ With that thought in mind, he gave Taylor a light tap on the shoulder to wake him up so he wouldn't miss the rest of the journey.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

"So where is the master of the castle? Don't tell me he forgot we were coming."

Stewart posed the question to Marco, the young man who had welcomed them upon their arrival and provided escort from the carpark to the main house. Stewart thought he remembered the fellow from when he'd last been here, but he wasn't entirely sure. The estate employed so many different people, from the household staff to the groundskeepers and farmers, he'd found it impossible to keep track of them all, though the place seemed quieter now than it had been during the Police's rehearsals two years before.

"Oh no, _Signore_ definitely did not forget!" Marco insisted. "But he is resting at the moment. He left instructions not to be disturbed until later this evening."

"Is he feeling alright?" Stewart asked. "He's not sick or something..."

"Oh no, not sick. Resting. Just resting. The heat of these summer days can be...very tiring, you understand. He says he looks forward to seeing you later tonight, and wishes for you to dine in his absence. After you have settled in and had some time to relax from your long journey, of course."

"Well, okay then, I suppose." It seemed odd, but maybe it was for the best if he had a little time to unwind before putting his game face on to deal with Sting. "So which room is ours?"

"Same as when you were last here, if that is acceptable."

"Absolutely. It took me weeks not to get lost in this place. At least I know how to find my way there."

" _Prego_."

Marco led them up the main staircase to the second floor, down a corridor lined with antiques and works of art which Stewart knew had to be worth unimaginable fortunes. He glanced at the silent Taylor and had to grin at the wide-eyed look of amazement on his face. "Taking all of this in yet?" Stewart quietly asked.

"Jesus H. Christ..."

"Trust me, it only gets better."

Their room was no less impressive than the rest of the house, all ornate woodwork and elegant upholsteries, the walls painted with decorative frescos of the hills and surrounding scenery of Tuscany. The bed itself was grand enough to sleep four or five comfortably, piled high in gold-and-burgundy linens and pillows.

"Will you be requiring anything else for now?" Marco asked, leaving their luggage by the foot of the bed.

"No, I think this'll do just fine," Stewart replied. " _Grazie mille_."

"Dinner will be served at eight, if that is acceptable. As the weather is so lovely after sunset, _Signore_ suggested you should dine in the pavilion, outside La Coloncia?"

"Sounds good to me. Taylor?"

"Uh...yeah. Whatever."

"Then I will leave you both now. _Buona sera_." Marco nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

"Ho. Ly. Shit." Taylor flopped down onto the bed. "This place is fucking unreal."

"I told you. And you haven't seen half of it yet...not even a fraction, actually. Nor hardly any of the outside grounds. There are three separate houses on the estate--plus the farm, all the fields, the lakes and swimming pools, horse paths and nature trails...trust me, we won't get bored being here for a week."

"I can think of lots of ways to pass the time if we do."

"Oh I'm sure you can." Stewart went to the doors that led out to the balcony, opening them up to let in some air from the outside. Though it was the heat of the summer, here in the countryside they seemed blessed with gentle breezes that kept it from being unbearably humid. The balcony wrapped around the entire second-story of the villa, with chairs and lounges scattered along its length for relaxing while contemplating the view.

"I knew the guy was loaded but this is completely insane, you know?"

Stewart walked back over to the bed, picked up his suitcase and began unpacking. "It's a different kind of life, that's for certain."

"Not ours."

"No. But I like it that way. I don't think I could take living in this kind of ivory tower full-time. Still, it makes for an interesting place to visit."

Taylor stretched out with a loud yawn and glanced at his watch. "Got a couple hours to kill before chowtime. Plenty of time for a good fuck to break in the place."

"Or a shower to rinse off the airplane crud."

"Or we could do both at the same time."

"An efficient line of thought."

Taylor rolled off the bed and headed to the connected bathroom. "Shit! This shower's big enough for a goddamned orgy!" he exclaimed.

"Are you making sordid plans already?"

"You know it." A t-shirt came flying out the door to land a short distance from Stewart's feet. "Are you coming or not?"

Stewart grinned, deciding unpacking could wait until later.

*

Feeling relaxed and refreshed--in more ways than one--Stewart and Taylor left for dinner a little before eight. They had a bit of a walk to La Coloncia, a separate building on the estate grounds that offered some of the finest views of the Tuscan hills from its outside pavilion. While enjoying the cooler night air now that the sun had gone down, Stewart was able to show Taylor a few of the sights around the main house as they walked the gravel-lined, softly illuminated path.

Eventually the path opened up into a colorful Moroccan-style pavilion, lit in candle and torchlight. Stewart recalled quite a few afternoon and evening meals taken here during the tour rehearsals, where the peace and beauty of the place had often managed to soothe hot tempers and quiet battles that had been simmering through the day's hard work in the studio.

Several members of the household staff were there waiting and showed them to a round table set for two, with a third chair nearby. As they sat down, water glasses were filled and a tumbler of amber-hued liquid appeared before Stewart. From the aroma alone he recognized it as his favorite brand of tequila. "Someone's got an excellent memory," he remarked to the server who brought it to him.

" _Signore_ was very specific in his instructions to make sure you both had everything you would require," the man explained with a smile.

"So it seems."

Stewart picked up the glass and contemplated its contents, the surroundings, his companion. Taylor caught him staring and asked, "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just happy to be here. With you."

Taylor smiled at his response, but looked uncomfortable. "Doesn't it seem weird that Sting hasn't shown his face yet?"

"Yeah, but...Sting is Sting. Weirdness pretty much comes with the package. I'm sure we'll find out what's going on soon enough. Let's just enjoy the royal treatment in the meantime, shall we?"

Royal certainly described the meal which followed--a drawn out, multi-course affair in classic Italian fashion, and every aspect of it divine. Something about the cooking in Italy-- _true_ Italian cooking, Stewart had found, made a person appreciate food as you never had before. It wasn't always that dishes were so very complicated, or richly spiced and unusual. It was more about finding revelation in the simplest combinations of taste and freshness: a slice of perfectly ripe melon wrapped in paper-thin prosciutto; pasta made from scratch in the kitchen that day and dressed simply in olive oil pressed from the fruits of nearby silvery trees; a tremendous _bistek florentine_ that had barely been kissed by the flames of a grill but somehow melted like butter on the tongue.

"I'm going to gain ten pounds this week if every meal is like this," Taylor sighed, pushing aside another empty plate, the last a modest but delicious dessert of panna cotta and berries.

"You could use a little meat on your bones, especially before hitting the road. I know you, you'll be living on burgers and cheese fries the entire time."

"Mm mmm, good stuff. But definitely not as good as this."

"No. And now I just wonder when our host is going to grant us his presence," Stewart mused, beginning to get anxious. Their servers made sure plates were cleared away swiftly and replaced by tiny cups of bitter, strong espresso. "I know we're only been here for a few hours, but something really does feel kind of...amiss in the Magic Stingdom."

"How's that?"

"It's too quiet. Even the staff--I've only seen maybe a handful hovering about. When I've been here before there's always been armies of people bustling around, between the help and the gaggles of guests, friends, family, and what-have-you."

"It does seem like a damned big spread to have all to yourself."

"Yeah, exactly. Sting can be the loner type, but I know he still requires a certain amount of care and pampering. He's not one to thrive in complete solitude." Stewart was distracted from further thoughts as he finally spotted a familiar figure approaching on the path leading to the pavilion. Dressed all in white, he looked almost like a ghost emerging from the surrounding darkness. "Well, speak of the devil, look who's here at last..."

"Stewart, Taylor..." Sting greeted them as he entered the pavilion. "I'm so happy to see you both here."

"And so at last _Il Duce_ graces us with his presence!" Stewart proclaimed as he stood to greet his old friend. But he could feel his smile dropping to an expression of open-mouthed shock as their host approached, and Stewart got a better look at him.

 _That's not...no, it_ is _, but it_ can't _be..._

Sting went to him first for a hug and a kiss on the cheek, even as Stewart stood there dumbstruck. "How are you. Well, I hope?"

"I...I'm fine, but _Jesus_ , Sting--what the hell have _you_ been up to? You look..." Stewart pulled back and took another look, finding himself at a rare loss for words. The Sting he saw before him was not the Sting he last had seen, nor remembered. It was as if ten, maybe even twenty years had been erased from the man's face--lines and creases Stewart had become familiar with now gone, his hair fuller, the entire appearance of his body and face different. But it was something even more than that, something beyond the little details that had changed about him.

 _He's always been so beautiful. And now, God help me, he practically looks like an angel._

"...Wow," Stewart finally managed, unable to find a more eloquent way to express himself.

"Thanks," Sting answered with a small smile. "I have to say I feel pretty 'wow,' too." He let go of Stewart and then turned to Taylor, who had also gotten to his feet. "Taylor, so glad you could come as well." Sting went to him next for a hug, and over Sting's shoulder, Taylor shot Stewart a quick " _what-the-fuck?!_ " look. Stewart in his own confusion could only shrug back.

"Uh, yeah, well...Stewart said I had to see this place, some day."

"And now here you are. I apologize that I didn't come down to greet you earlier." Sting brought the third chair over to the table and Stewart and Taylor reseated themselves. "My sleeping habits have been a bit out of sorts lately, and then I had some matters to attend to before I was free for the evening."

"But you're feeling okay, right?" Stewart asked, concerned. Maybe it was a trick of the candle and torchlight, he wondered. Maybe he'd had a few too many tequilas, but then, Taylor wouldn't be looking so shocked as well as he'd had nothing stronger than his espresso to drink.

"I've never felt better in my life," Sting insisted. "How was dinner?"

"Magnifico. Aren't you going to have anything?"

"I had a light bite earlier."

"Not even an after-dinner _digestif_?"

"Perhaps tomorrow night. And I'm sure you're both tired after the trip, so I won't keep you up too late this evening. How was your flight?"

"Long," was Taylor's succinct reply.

"Especially when stuck next to someone who can't sit still," Stewart put in. He still wasn't over Sting's appearance but had to get his equilibrium back.

"It was those last few hours that were such a bitch. I was dying for a smoke," Taylor excused himself.

"Well, I hope you won't find yourselves lacking in anything while here," Sting said.

Stewart replied, "If tonight was any indication, I'm sure we'll be very well taken care of."

Sting answered only with a smile and a look which Stewart found completely unnerving. _An angel, maybe, but I'd place all my bets on a fallen one. There's something not right about any of this._ But how he was going to find out what that something was, he still didn't have a clue.

*

It was close to midnight before Stewart and Taylor returned to their room, Sting having said goodnight after some further small-talk and a promise to spend more time with them the following day.

"Okay, Stew, you know Sting better than I do, so tell me--was that fucking fucked up tonight, or was it just me?"

"It wasn't just you," Stewart agreed. He undressed and climbed into bed, welcoming the warmth of the heavy sheets and Taylor's body next to his own. He couldn't escape a strange chill that had settled over his mood since seeing Sting, nor the feeling that things were not as they should be.

"What the fuck did he do to himself? I mean, he looks..."

"Amazing, that bastard. And somehow I don't think it's all thanks to fucking yoga. I've seen a lot of knife-jobs in L.A. but nothing to compare to that." Stewart took his glasses off and put them on the nightstand, and then only partly joked, "Maybe I ought to get the name of whoever did his work, huh?"

"Fuck that. I want you just the way you are," Taylor insisted, cuddling in closer against him. "Besides, it's kind of creepy. Unnatural. Dude's what, a year older than you? And he practically looks my age right now. Doesn't seem right."

 _Keep making me feel self-conscious,_ Stewart thought but didn't say, knowing Taylor would only dismiss it away but he couldn't help himself. The difference in their ages had always been one thing about this relationship that Stewart worried about, and finding himself here feeling suddenly like the old man of the group was only bringing that worry back to the forefront of his mind. Still, Taylor's touch was reassuring, his presence enough to soothe some of his concerns. He kissed Taylor's forehead and stroked his hair, musing aloud, "Maybe it just feels strange being here since the last time was for the Police rehearsals. That was definitely a rough ride. It almost seemed like a lifetime ago until coming back here...and now it feels like it all just happened yesterday."

"Do you think that's why he asked you to come here? I know there were things you guys worked on that never really came about. The acoustic project..."

"Yeah, and that was just a disaster waiting to happen."

"But there was all that talk about a new album that ended up falling through, too."

"I know--and I _don't_ know. It's anyone's guess with Stingo. But I think there's something much more than band affairs at stake here. Besides, he would've asked Andy to come here too if something Police-related was in play."

"Do you know if he's talked to Andy or not lately?"

"No, I don't," Stewart admitted. "It's possible he might have, but Andy would usually tell me about something like that." Stewart could ponder these things some more, only Taylor was beginning to do things beneath the sheets with his hands that were diverting his powers of attention. "I gather that someone's tired of talking."

"About Sting? Definitely. That dinner made me horny."

"I still haven't figured out what _doesn't_ make you horny, Taylor." But he wasn't really complaining. If there was anything that was going to keep him feeling young, it was Taylor's rather insatiable appetite for sex--and that his desire to satiate that appetite with Stewart never seemed to fade or lessen.

"Just feelin' like a little snack before bed," Taylor teased. "Got a craving for something that wasn't on the menu..."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah..." Taylor grinned and kissed him, and then slid down the bed, disappearing from sight under the heavy covers. Soon it was pretty clear what exactly he had a taste for, and Stewart certainly wasn't going stop him from getting what he wanted.

"Mmm..." Stewart closed his eyes and let his worries of the day--about Sting, about any of this--slip away. None of it seemed to matter very much in comparison to the sweet, distracting pleasures offered by Taylor's hands and mouth, his tongue doing things that were no doubt illegal in several states and countries worldwide but damned if Stewart would stop him. He slid one hand beneath the sheets to find Taylor's head, fingers stroking at and curling into his long hair. Taylor moaned and continued having his way with Stewart's body, needing no further guidance or encouragement to keep going.

Stewart fell so deeply into the pleasure of it all--perhaps from the weariness of travel, a lingering buzz from the alcohol, and the luxury of this bed--that when he felt a cool breeze against his ear, it didn't register on him at first as anything out of the ordinary.

Perhaps he'd left the balcony door open. He'd shut it after...

 _~Come to me...come_ for _me...~_ the wind seemed to sigh against his ear.

Stewart shivered, Taylor taking him deeper, the need within him building and growing stronger by the second. And then he gasped, feeling something like the sudden prick of a bee sting against his neck. He arched up in response, hand clenching in Taylor's hair as he came almost instantly from the contrasting sensations of pleasure and pain.

 _~That's it, love. That's it...~_

"Mmmph!"

Stewart heard the muffled noise from under the blanket and blinked open his eyes, disoriented momentarily about where he was and what had just happened. He could've sworn he'd heard someone whispering against his ear, but that was impossible...wasn't it? Had to have simply been the wind. He glanced toward the balcony, saw the curtains blowing gently in from the breeze, confirming his suspicions.

"Seems like someone was pretty hungry for that too," Taylor sighed, emerging from beneath the sheets and sliding back up against Stewart's side. "Didn't take much to get you going."

"Mm, guess not..."

"What's that on your neck?" Taylor asked, concern creasing his brow as he reached across to touch Stewart's neck, right where he'd felt the stinging sensation. When he pulled his hand back, Stewart was surprised to see a small smudge of blood on Taylor's fingertips.

"Shit, I don't know." Stewart reached up himself and touched the small raised welt on his skin. "Must've been a bug that got in from outside. Thought I'd felt something bite me."

"Fuckin' monster mosquito if it was. I'm closing that door and turning up the air conditioning."

Taylor got out of bed and did just that, turning off the light by the bed before climbing back under the covers. "The only one that gets to nibble on you is me."

"My hero," Stewart joked, even as he reached up to rub his neck again, wondering if there wasn't something other than insects in the air here for them to watch out for.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Thanks to a potent combination of jet lag, a little too much to eat and drink, and the luxuriously comfortable bed, Stewart didn't rouse himself from sleep until almost noon the next day. He heard the shower running when he woke up, so it appeared Taylor had beaten him in rising at least by a little bit--certainly a change from the normal routine. He made no rush to rise from bed, however, his thoughts turning back to the night before as he waited for Taylor to finish in the bath.

Their arrival at the nearly empty house, Sting's absence until so late, and then his appearance when he did turn up...nothing about this trip was making much of any sense. Had it been a good idea to come here at all? The question remained in the front of Stewart's mind, but he supposed he would get no real answer until he'd had the chance to seriously talk to Sting about what was going on.

Taylor emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, scrubbing the water out of his hair with a towel. "Morning, sleepyhead. You sure were out cold."

"Mmm," he yawned. "Must be something in the air. Or the tequila."

"Hungover?"

"Dunno if it's that or a bad case of jet lag."

"Take your time lounging around, either way. I thought I'd head out for a hike around the place, or maybe take the car for a drive and see what's in the area."

"Wait for me to get sorted out and I can give you the tour."

Taylor grabbed his jeans from the dresser and pulled them on, then sat on the edge of the bed next to Stewart. "Actually, I was thinking that if something's up with Sting--and we definitely think something _is,_ right? _\--_ he might want to talk to you about it, you know, alone. Or that you'd have a better chance finding out what's going on without me around."

"You could be right." Taylor's idea made sense, but also made Stewart slightly worried--though he wasn't sure for whom he was more concerned. "Just don't get lost out there."

"I'll take the GPS. And my phone. Call me if you need me--or when you're ready for me to come back, though if I don't hear from you figure I'll be back before dinnertime."

"Will do."

"You never know, maybe I'll find out something, myself. I do have my ways," Taylor said with a wink.

"I know you certainly do. Hey..." Stewart grabbed Taylor's arm before he could get back on his feet and finish getting dressed. "Love you. And thanks."

"Ditto and no worries, mate." Taylor leaned across for a quick kiss. "Just find out what the fuck is going on, 'cause it's starting to give me the creeps."

*

After Taylor left, Stewart took his time with a long, hot shower that did a good job of washing away his lingering grogginess. While shaving, he remembered to check his neck in the mirror, but the sting or bite from the night before was barely visible today. All he could see was a tiny red blotch on his skin, clearly nothing to fret about.

He got dressed, throwing on an old t-shirt and some khakis, and soon after there was a knock at his door. He opened it and with great delight found an older woman in a chef's apron bearing a tray loaded with an obscenely large display of fruit and pastries, and much more importantly a giant pot of coffee. " _Signor_ Hawkins said you would be needing breakfast," the woman explained.

"Ah, he knows me far too well, " Stewart stepped aside, happy to let her in. She set up the breakfast tray on the desk across the room from the bed.

"Is okay?" she asked.

"Is _eccelente,_ especially this." Stewart lifted his freshly poured cup of _Americano_ in salute.Before the woman could slip away, he called after her, "It seems awfully quiet around the place, doesn't it? Is everyone off on _ferragosto_ or something?"

"No, _signor_. It is always quiet here, now. By himself, our master requires only few of us here daily. Many of the staff were let go this year. Others left on their own."

 _Left? Who would give up a cushy job working here?_ It seemed puzzling...and there was something the way she had called Sting "master" that made him momentarily queasy, but it could have just been a language thing, he supposed. Or the caffeine hitting his stomach. "Why did they leave?"

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable and eager to escape. "I cannot say."

"Can't say because you don't know, or can't say because you're not allowed?"

"If you require anything else, please let me know. _Buon giorno._ " And with that she exited the room abruptly, leaving Stewart's final question unanswered.

"Well. So much for help from the help."

After breakfast, he took to wandering the giant house and wondering where Sting had holed himself up for the day. It wasn't going to do Taylor's plan of leaving them alone to talk any good if Stewart spent the whole afternoon aimlessly searching for the man. Stewart checked the studio, which he found quiet and empty. In fact, most of the instruments looked like they hadn't been touched in ages, the space filled with a somewhat stale air as if it had been closed off for some time. The large kitchen, which he checked next, was equally empty and quiet except for the one same woman who'd brought him breakfast, busy working now on what he supposed would be the evening meal. She was pounding away on a filet of meat, flattening it with a mallet with her back to the doorway when Stewart walked in.

"Looks like that's a good way to work out some stress," he said.

"Oh!" She nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around with the wooden mallet raised high above her head, eyes wide in fear.

"Sorry-- _scusi, scusi_!" He lifted his empty hands defensively and stepped back, not eager to feel that mallet come down on his skull. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"No, I am sorry. My nerves, oh." She put down the mallet and wiped her forehead with a kitchen towel. "Is everything alright? Can I make you something else to eat?"

 _Only and always in Italy--the first solution to any possible problem must involve food._ "No, really, but thank you. I'm just curious about where Sting has vanished to...once again."

" _Signore_ may still be resting. He does not sleep well at night."

"Bad insomnia?"

"Perhaps. But he will find you when he is awake, I am sure." She seemed disinclined to expand upon her answer, going back to pounding away on the pink slices of meat with her mallet, so Stewart gave up and moved on.

With nothing else to try short of banging on Sting's door--which was tempting, but perhaps not the best way to start off the first full day of this visit--Stewart headed to the library. If nothing else, he could always lose himself in a good book for a few hours. The cavernous, dark-paneled room was lined floor to ceiling in volumes on all possible subjects, though with a heavy leaning on classic literature and philosophy. Not necessarily Stewart's topics of choice, but after poking around for a while he found something on Italian folklore that looked moderately interesting. Taking the book with him, he settled into one of the deep, soft leather chairs and lost himself for a time in stories of witchcraft, devils and spider dances.

*

"And how did you sleep last night?"

Stewart jerked his head up at the voice, the book falling out of his hands and landing on the wooden floor with a heavy thud. He had lost track of how long he'd been reading, but he hadn't thought he'd been so absorbed in the rather dry academic text that he wouldn't hear someone approach. Yet Sting now sat in the chair facing him just a few feet away, a slightly bemused expression on his face.

"Sorry I startled you," Sting apologized. "Must be an interesting read."

"Either that or I didn't sleep as well as I thought I did and nodded off for a while." Stewart bent down to pick up the book and put it on the desk beside his chair. Trying to shake off his disorientation, he rubbed his hands over his face and then continued, "Though I hear you're the one having trouble catching your z's lately."

"Who told you that?"

"Just some buzzing around the house," Stewart answered vaguely, not wanting to get anyone in trouble. Maybe there was a reason the woman had been so hesitant to talk to him. Certainly he was feeling uncomfortable enough with Sting at the moment. He still couldn't get used to the way Sting looked, nor the way Sting was looking at _him._ His blue eyes, normally piercing and sharp as a knife, now were so intense in color and focus that Stewart felt their gaze could cut straight through to one's soul.

And yet Sting's attitude remained as though all was normal, the tenor of his voice as soft as always when he shrugged and said, "It's more my schedule's a little...off, I suppose. But mornings never were my strong suit."

"Hmm."

"Where's Taylor?"

"Off exploring the local environs for the day. He thought we could use some 'alone time' to catch up on things."

"That would be nice." Sting rose from his chair and stretched, the movement catlike in its grace. "Shall we go for a walk outside, before losing the light? Best not to waste away the entire day in the darkness."

"Sure."

"Get yourself a hat before we go. The sun is quite strong today; you could almost melt in this heat. Meet you on the patio in a few minutes."

Stewart rejoined Sting after a quick stop in his room to get his sneakers and a hat. Sting was waiting, looking--Stewart had to be honest--a bit comical having donned a pair of large sunglasses and a rather ridiculous-looking fedora. His loose-fitting, well-worn and wrinkled shirt and slacks did little to improve his ensemble, though it did distract quite a bit from the changes in his appearance and remind Stewart of the the Sting he was more used to. _He's still the only person I know who spends so much money to dress like a bum,_ Stewart thought to himself with some amusement.

"Are we ready?" Sting asked.

"Lead the way..."

The patio's French doors opened onto steps that led out to the back garden, where greenery surrounded a stone pool, the water perfectly blue and still. Cement steps led them out into the greater gardens surrounding the villa, then turning into a wide footpath of gravel and dirt which Sting chose to lead them down for the afternoon walk. Out in the daylight, today, Stewart looked around a bit more closely and noticed that the grounds looked a bit wild, less immaculately kept up than before. So the household staff weren't the only ones who appeared to have been lightened up in number, he supposed.

Under the late-afternoon golden sunlight, Stewart also could not help but notice, even under the shade of his hat and sunglasses, just how pale Sting's complexion was now, almost like marble. He didn't remember Sting looking that way the night before; had he simply not noticed, or had it been masked the dim light of the candles and torches? Maybe he had been imagining some of what he'd thought he'd seen, for while Sting still appeared younger--far younger--than he _should_ look, something of that strange _difference_ Stewart had noted before seemed to be gone. If anything Sting actually looked a bit frail in the brightness of day.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Stewart was genuinely concerned. "No offense, Sting, but I've seen corpses with more color than you."

"As I said last night, I've never felt better. I just haven't been getting enough sun, I suppose, sleeping through much of the day as I've been doing lately."

"When did that start?"

Sting shrugged. "Don't recall exactly. Just sort of slid into the habit as I seem to be more productive in the evenings anymore."

"So you've been working on some new things?" Stewart asked, though he recalled how the studio had shown nothing to indicate as much.

"Mmm. This and that. In no great hurry at the moment, but...seeing where some different possibilities lead me. And you?"

"Well, my book is done so I'll probably be off on the promotion tour for that soon. Did you ever read the draft I sent you?"

"I had a look."

"And?"

"And it's very much you, Stewart."

"Well, thanks. I think."

"I do mean that as a compliment."

"I'll take your word for it." And Stewart supposed that was about all the feedback he was going to get. But it was better than being contacted by Sting's management demanding edits, he figured, so he'd take what he could get. "You know, Sting, I'm sorry things got kind of ugly when we last talked. I didn't mean for the tour to end on a sour note like that."

Sting dismissed his apology with a wave of the hand. "I've even forgotten what we were arguing about. I think we were all just tired--and probably tired of each other for a time."

"No doubt. It was a few months before I talked to Andy, too--and he lives right up the street from me!"

"How is Andy these days?"

"Great, great. Last I'd heard he was off to Uruguay. Or was it Zimbabwe? I can't remember. You know Andy, half the time _he_ doesn't even know where he's going until he gets there."

"And things are good with you and Taylor, it seems."

"Yeah, really good."

"I'm glad."

The path grew narrower and less defined the further they walked away from the the main house, the gardens turning gradually into completely untamed fields and then light forest. Sting was quiet as they continued on, asking occasional polite questions while leaving Stewart plenty of time to ramble on about this and that, talking to fill in the empty spaces. Rather typical for their conversations in that fashion, although eventually Stewart ran out of things to say and remembered that he was, after all, supposed to be getting information out of Sting today, not the other way around.

They made a turn onto a trail that led into a more heavily wooded area, the overhead canopy of leaves so dense only pockets and flickers of light broke through. Here Sting slipped off his sunglasses, tucking them into a pocket of his shirt as they walked along. "Don't think I've ever been back this way before," Stewart said.

"It's one of my favorite places to explore, when I want to get away from everything and everyone else."

"I think we've managed to do that pretty successfully," Stewart agreed. Then he took a deep breath and decided enough was enough. "So what's been going on, Sting, for real. You told me in your letter how your life had taken some kind of 'unexpected turn'."

"Yes. Quite."

"And? Come on, it's just you and me now. You had me travel all the way out here to see you, so I think it's time to cut the bullshit and elaborate."

"I've been trying to figure out how, Stewart, but...truthfully I'm not sure where to even begin."

"How about anywhere. The beginning. The middle. Even the end, if the beginning is too difficult. Just give me _something_ to start with."

"Trudie's gone."

"Yeah, I know. You said she was in England."

"Yes. But I mean she's gone. Permanently. She left me about a month ago."

Okay, _that_ wasn't exactly where Stewart expected this to start. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Sting. "Wait, _what_? But that's... _why_?! I thought...okay it's corny but you guys were made for each other!"

"I thought so as well. But that was before...things started changing. Before _I_ started to change. In the end she couldn't handle what was happening and didn't want the children around me any longer." Sting spoke so matter-of-factly about it all, and that unnerved Stewart as much as the words he was saying. "I can't say I blame her for that, even though at first she had wanted it as well. Wanted it as badly as I did, if not even more so."

"Wanted _what_ , though? What the hell are you talking about?"

Sting started walking again, leaving a puzzled Stewart to pick up the pace to catch up with him. "Isn't it obvious, Stewart? I know you're not blind, I know you've noticed. To _not grow old_ , not have to face the finiteness of our time in this world. These things...they begin to weigh so heavily on us at this age, don't they? Especially as we watch those we care about leaving us, one by one. At least, that was the way I was beginning to feel, wondering when my day would come, whether I'd have the time for everything I wanted to do before then." He slipped an arm around Stewart's shoulder as they walked on. "Wondering how much longer I'd have to be with the people I love, how much time they'd even want to be with me. Haven't you felt that way yourself?"

There was an uncomfortable truth to Sting's words, Stewart had to admit. "Okay, I know what you're saying, but..."

"First we lost Kim, then Ian...and thinking of how my parents both died at the same age I had now reached...they were all part of why it was so important to me to do the tour and put things right between us before it became too late." Sting paused for a moment before continuing, "Even then, as the tour went on, I already began thinking of what would come next. After we would say our goodbyes...what then? What was left for me? For any of us?"

"You mean beyond enjoying sitting on giant piles of money and having the freedom to do whatever we wanted with it, including nothing at all? I dunno, it's been kind of sweet from my point of view."

"Which is why I envy you, Stewart. No, really," he insisted at Stewart's snort of disbelief. "These are concerns I wish I could so easily aside. Instead I became obsessed with the ways to hold back time, even turn it around, beyond what nature and modern science could provide."

"Well I'd say you managed to succeed. So how much did it cost you to find the fountain of youth?"

"The price you might expect for such a thing. My soul."

Stewart started to laugh at what was only too clichéd a response, but then he turned to look at his companion and saw that there was not even a hint of mischief in Sting's eyes, nothing to suggest it was a joke on his part. "Okay, seriously, now."

"I am being serious." Sting's arm slipped away as he reached down to pick up a fallen branch in front of their path, then toss it aside into the brush. "Many years ago I had found someone who could give me this, but I hadn't been ready to make the sacrifice then. This time I was, despite the cost."

"So what are we talking about here, a deal with the devil? You got a portrait stashed away in a closet somewhere?"

"Not quite. Something along those lines, though."

Stewart shook his head, growing frustrated with Sting's rambling tale that just seemed to be going nowhere and giving him no real answers still. "You're a piece of work, Sting. Really. But if all you want to do to play headgames instead of telling me the truth--"

In a startlingly swift movement, Sting grabbed him, pulling him into a tight embrace so fast that Stewart's hat flew off his head and fell to the ground. Locked together face-to-face, Sting hissed at him, "This is not a game," and without further warning pressed his mouth hard against Stewart's.

The suddenness of Sting's actions left Stewart momentarily unable to react, too surprised to do anything but offer an instinctive, token protest, struggling to break free. But quickly his resistance and shock began to melt away, unsustainable when in truth he had little ability to object to being kissed by Sting, regardless of the circumstances. The situation might be bizarre and Sting's behavior completely confusing, but the pleasure this contact brought him, as always, was not insubstantial.

His hands, which had reached up at first to push Sting off, soon relaxed and found hold on the man's shoulders. One then slid up to his neck, the back of his head, nudging off Sting's hat as well so he could feel his hair, hold him there for the kiss. A voice in his head told him this was very much a bad idea; he thought of Taylor and guilt seized his heart for a moment, but then Sting's arms were around him, and the taste of his kiss too intoxicating to resist. He'd always had a weakness for the man, but this...this felt more like a long-denied addiction, filling him with a need far worse than he remembered.

Stewart's tongue darted past Sting's parted lips, demanding more. Sting moaned against his mouth, clearly fighting a need strong as his own. But then Stewart's tongue brushed across something unexpectedly sharp, the painful prick drawing him out of the near trance-like state into which he'd fallen.

Pulling back, he tasted blood in his mouth. "The hell..." he started to say, looking at Sting--and then stopped himself, dead cold.

Because he wasn't... _That_ wasn't Sting. It couldn't be. The _thing_ in his arms glowered at him with eyes filled with a fire more deadly than passionate, and his lips were parted in a twisted smile more like a predator's hungry snarl.

And there was blood on one its exposed fangs.

Stewart pushed back and wrenched himself free of the creature's grip, stumbling to get away from him and nearly tripping on the rough underbrush under his feet. But the other swept him up and pinned him against a tree, knocking the wind out of his body as he was slammed into the rough bark. The creature held his shoulders hard in a talon-like grasp as its eyes burned into his own, and Stewart desperately wanted to turn away but he couldn't. Something about that terrible gaze held him as if under a spell, even as he was shaking in fear.

 _"Look at me, Stewart,"_ the creature hissed. _"I told you this was no game. Now look at what I have become."_

"No..."

 _"_ **_Look_ ** _."_

He _was_ looking, he just didn't want to see it. Didn't want to believe it. He wanted this all to be a nightmare, but he couldn't seem to wake up from it. "Please..." was all he could say, the only plea that could escape his lips.  
 __  
 _Please let this not be happening  
please don't kill me  
please make it stop_  
 __  
 _please give him back to me..._

Stewart blinked, and, suddenly, startlingly, it was only Sting again, holding him, looking at him with those familiar blue eyes that now seemed as confused and frightened as Stewart himself felt. "Stewart..." Sting started to say, letting go of the rough hold he had on the drummer's shoulders and stepping back, as if waking from his own nightmare.

Stewart slumped back against the tree and slid down to the ground, finding his legs too weak to hold him upright. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he tried to convince himself that none of what he'd seen--none of what had just happened--had been real. Because it couldn't be. There was no way.

"I'm sorry, Stewart. I didn't mean to frighten you like that. I'm still...learning to control this."

"Control _what?_ What I just saw..." Stewart paused, still trying to catch his breath, "what I just saw can't be real."

"It is, I'm afraid. I'm not who I used to be. I've become what legends would call a.... vampire."

"Vampire," Stewart repeated numbly, saying the word without it really registering in his brain.

"More or less. The legends get a lot of the details wrong," Sting said, following his words with a casual shrug. He squatted down in front of Stewart and glanced up at the overhead canopy of trees, a sliver of daylight falling on his face. "Sunlight, for one, obviously. Though a nocturnal existence feels more comfortable in this state, it isn't a necessity, more a...convenience. It provides better cover for certain...needful activities, and differences in our appearances as you've seen by now."

"A vampire. Jesus fucking _hell,_ Sting..." Stewart just dropped his head in his hands and continued taking slow, deep breaths. His heart was still pounding and none of this felt real--none of this _could_ be real, dammit, he kept repeating to himself. Vampires didn't exist. Sting was _not_ a vampire.

"It really isn't that bad, all things considered."

"Not that bad. You fucking scared the _shit_ out of me a few seconds ago, looking like something out of a goddamned horror movie, and it's _not so bad?!"_

Sting was quiet, and Stewart could see even through his own hurt and anger that his words had wounded. "Stewart please, it's still _me._ "

"Is it? It is _really_ you?" He could see pain barely masked behind Sting's eyes, sensed a fear there that was different but no less than his own, and it made him regret his words and want to reach out even through his uncertainty and shock. He put his hand on Sting's arm and was aware now, as he hadn't been before, of how cool his skin felt.

 _Like a dead body. Dead. Oh god..._

"Sting, I..."

But Sting pulled away and rose to his feet before Stewart could finish. He turned his head sharply, as if listening to something, though Stewart could hear nothing more than the sounds of the forest around them. "Taylor's on his way back. And I have things I need to do," he said.

"What sort of things?"

"Things I'll tell you about later, if you really want to know. You might not. For now, you should go back to the house. I'll see you both later this evening."

"Now wait a minute, you can't just--" Stewart stopped, realizing he was talking to nothing but thin air. Sting had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Stewart just sat there, staring into the empty space where Sting had been, still trying to put all of this together in his mind.

Sting.

Sting was now a vampire.

 _"More or less."_

...Or so he'd said. But that didn't really make Stewart feel any better about it.

A more-or-less vampire.

"Well. Mother _fuck_."

 _I might've called him a cold-hearted, blood-sucking son of a bitch before but I never meant it literally._

Not even his unspoken wisecrack did anything to make him feel better about any of this. Shakily, Stewart got to his feet and instead tried to focus on rational things. Solid things. _Normal_ things. Like finding their hats where they'd been tossed aside, collecting them to bring back to the house. Like trying to remember his own way back there, through this maze of trees and branches.

 _Fuck_. _Fuck. FUCK._

He needed a smoke. And then a drink. Maybe several of both. Anything to try to forget about what had just happened.

Though somehow he knew _that_ was going to be a lot more easily said than done.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Taylor did in fact arrive back at the estate soon thereafter, which was both good and bad as far as Stewart was concerned. He had hoped for at least a little time by himself to try to digest and understand what had happened with Sting, but at the same time, he wasn't so sure he felt like being alone in this house right now, either.

"Hey, did ya miss me?" Taylor asked as he came bounding into their room.

"You have no idea." Taylor looked flushed and his hair windblown; the touch of his hand on Stewart's arm and the press of his lips for a quick kiss were both reassuringly warm.

Normal. _Human._

"Did you have a good day?" Stewart asked.

"Yeah, I did. Not really a lot to see around here. It's pretty isolated, isn't it? Just a lot of old farms and shit. Still, I guess it's kind of cool. But what's the matter with you? You look like you just saw a ghost or something."

"To be perfectly honest, Taylor? I don't have any idea _what_ I saw." He sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh, wondering just how was he supposed to explain _any_ of this.

"Did you talk to Sting?"

"Yeah. Kind of."

"And?"

"And I'm still not sure what the hell is going on. In fact I think I'm even less sure than I was before we got here."

"Which tells me absolutely nothing."

"There's not a lot I can tell you right now. At least, not a lot I understand well enough to explain at this point." At Taylor's frustrated look, Stewart shook his head and apologized, "I'm sorry. There's...definitely something's going on with Sting, but I don't want to say anything about it when my information is spotty at best."

"Okay. I get that. You just scared me when I first saw you." Taylor reached for Stewart's hand, and the concern on the younger man's face made Stewart wish he felt comfortable saying more. But what was he supposed to say? That Sting had become a vampire, fangs and all? It sounded so ridiculous in his head, he couldn't even imagine saying it out loud to anyone else.

"I'm fine, Taylor."

"So where _is_ Sting now?"

"I don't know. He took off saying he had something he had to do, and that he'd be back later. Seeing the time already, I suppose that means we fend for ourselves for dinner again."

"Well there are worse things in the world than that, right?"

 _Like seeing someone you love turn into a monster before your eyes?_

"Yeah. Definitely worse."

*

Dinner was once again as lavish and beautifully prepared as the night before, but Stewart had a harder time relaxing and enjoying it this time around. He tried to stay distracted by Taylor's meandering tales of the day--including one involving a lone cow, a herd of goats, two wooden barrels and one very irate Italian farmer. Stewart could barely follow the highlighted version of the tale and was fairly certain he didn't want to know the rest. He also had more to drink than he usually allowed himself, but in truth that wasn't helping with anything other than making it even harder to follow what the hell Taylor was talking about.

As had happened the previous evening, they were finishing up dessert and espresso under the stars and torchlight before Sting appeared to join them.

"Sorry to be late to the party, once again," he said, taking a chair at their table. "Dinner was acceptable?"

"Fuckin' awesome," Taylor declared, punctuating his verdict with a burp. "I don't suppose the chef has a sister or somethin' willing to move to Brentwood."

"I could always inquire." Stewart noticed Sting looked better than he had earlier in the day--some color had returned to his face, and his eyes shined bright but, well, _human_ as they met Stewart's gaze. Even so, it was hard for Stewart not to think back on what he'd seen earlier in the day and shudder slightly at the memory. He thought the gesture imperceptible, but Sting's gaze sharpened on him and he prompted, "Are you feeling alright, Stewart?"

"Me? I'm fine. Must just...be a little chill in the air. I take it you already ate?" Stewart asked, trying to cover his building discomfort over all of this and not think too much about what Sting might have eaten.

"By necessity. Local affairs have been keeping me quite preoccupied of late--in fact I may be gone most of tomorrow, to finish up some business matters that unfortunately cannot wait until next week."

"No rest for the wicked, I suppose," Stewart muttered softly.

Sting apparently chose to ignore him. "After tomorrow I should have the rest of the week free to share with you both. Stewart told me you were out exploring this afternoon, Taylor?"

"Yeah. Seeing the sights. It's not a bad spread you've got here."

"I'm rather fond of it," Sting agreed. "If I'm indisposed, you two should both enjoy yourselves tomorrow, perhaps take a trip to Figline Vidalio--they have some excellent leathersmiths in the town, better than you'll find in any of the major cities of Italy."

"Leather can be fun," Taylor agreed, winking at Stewart. "I could use some new goodies."

"The day after I can take you both around the estate, show you some of my favorite places a little off the well-traveled paths. How does that sound?"

"Don't see why not." Taylor shrugged. "Stew?"

"I suppose we can make the best of whatever circumstances present themselves..."

"That's good to hear," Sting answered.

"...within reason, of course," Stewart finished.

Sting smiled slightly at that, though his expression was hardly comforting. "Yes. Of course."

The rest of the evening passed with only light conversation, Taylor and Sting contributing the most to it as Taylor retold his story about the livestock and the farmer, though now it seemed to also involve a buxom young maid who spoke no English, which might explain what the farmer had been so pissed about. Stewart, for his part, was still stuck on what had happened that afternoon--and if he and Taylor should remain at Il Pilagio at all because of it.

 _If Sting's a vampire, how do I know he didn't just call us here to suck our blood and kill us?_ It might have been an irrational line of thought, but then again there was nothing rational about any of this so far. Vampires weren't supposed to exist, period, except in campy movies and crappy gothic romances. Someone you'd known most of your life--someone you'd worked with, someone you considered a friend, even more than that--wasn't supposed to turn into one.

 _But even if Sting really has become a vampire, I can't just turn my back on him. He's still the same person inside, isn't he?_

Stewart supposed that _was_ the question that needed answering before anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

Sleep didn't come easily that night for Stewart, and when it did he was plagued by strange dreams and disturbing visions, creatures chasing him through dark places. Most slipped away from his mind as soon as he stirred himself awake, leaving in their aftermath just a feeling of significant unease and discomfort. He felt restless and cold even under the warmth of the blankets and despite the fact the night air was far from cool.

 _Maybe the air conditioning's too high,_ he thought, slipping out of bed to check the thermostat. But then he noticed it wasn't on at all, and the balcony doors were open, letting in a gentle breeze. He could've sworn they'd closed them before bed, remembering the previous night's bug attack.

 _If that's all that had been._ Stewart rubbed his neck, recalling the night before, and Sting's revelation earlier that day. Maybe he'd been "stung" by something other than some random insect. Maybe vampires turned into nasty blood sucking bugs and not the bats of lore.

Maybe he was just being overly paranoid.

 _But then again, maybe there's no such thing as too paranoid in circumstances such as these._

He walked over to the balcony doors, ready to close them and try to get back to sleep, but then decided to step outside for a moment first. Perhaps the night air would be good for his frazzled nerves. The moon, nearly full, cast an eerie glow over the landscape outside. Far off in the hills, he could see a few lights from the nearest town, sprinkled over the landscape like glitter. It was a peaceful, beautiful sight, and he did find his thoughts calming as he looked out at the view.

"The night air is good for the soul, isn't it?"

Stewart jumped at the voice, the interruption shattering the tranquil mood he'd just begun to fall into. He looked to his left, from where he'd thought he'd heard the voice. Near the end of the balcony, before it circled around the corner to the eastern side of the villa, he now noticed a figure sitting in one of the deck chairs, illuminated only by the moon and the soft light pouring out from another room's balcony doors.

Sting. Of course. Stewart swallowed down a not insignificant amount of anxiety and started walking toward him, figuring now was as good of a time as any to try to get some more answers.

"I hear it is, but what would you know about that?" Stewart asked. "I thought you didn't have one anymore."

"Artistic hyperbole," Sting dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I told you a lot of those old stories are nonsense. Literary inventions to sell a good morality tale, or get some bored, frustrated housewives hot and bothered. What primitive science couldn't explain, man made into myth and monsters. Nothing new to that, is there?"

"I guess not."

Sting gestured to the lounge, next to his own chair, and Stewart took a seat on its soft cushions. Sting didn't _look_ like a threatening monster now, just good old Sting. Or not-so-old Sting. Despite the reasons why, and all the crazy circumstances, Stewart couldn't help it--a part of him was completely entranced by his appearance, so much now like the younger man he'd first met all those years ago.

Met and fallen in love with in one moment, one night, never able to shake it off since. "So tell me how this all happened," Stewart began. "The whole story this time, from the beginning."

"You believe me, then?"

"It's not like I have any choice, do I? After what happened today, I don't think I do--not unless you've got some new explanation to share with me now." Stewart leaned back, hugging his arms against his chest. "Either way, I want to hear it. I think I deserve that much."

"Yes, you do. And I'm sorry about earlier. That wasn't...how I'd planned to reveal things." Sting still seemed to be having trouble finding the words to explain, looking down at his hands quietly for a few moments as Stewart waited, impatient but knowing better than to push. After a long pause, Sting shook his head and smiled gently, then laughed a little as he admitted, "As cliché as I know it sounds, this all began the way such things usually do: because of a girl."

Stewart snorted. "At least in that one measure of predictability you never disappoint."

"I suppose not."

"This girl some recent fling?"

"No, an ancient one--in many ways. Someone I encountered back when we were just starting to make it, moving into the bigger concert halls and getting our music played on the radio. When the madness first began in earnest, and women were everywhere we turned, willing to do anything to get close to us. Willing to do anything _for_ us."

"Ah yes, I seem to vaguely recall such days, in the far recesses of my mind."

"This girl...she was one of them...but then, she wasn't really like the rest of them at all."

"What was she, some kind of...groupie vampire?" Stewart asked, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of how that sounded when he said it, but Sting didn't seem to think it was a joke at all.

"There are actually quite a few of them, or so I've since heard. Tasting the blood of the famous can be quite the rush, and a bit of a prize to some in the community. Don't laugh--one or two may have even tasted you through the years, you just don't remember it."

"I'd like to think I'd remember something like a vampire taking a bite of me."

"And how much do you _really_ remember of some of those days, Stewart, when we were getting from one show to the next on not much more than the drugs and adrenaline?"

"Okay," Stewart admitted. "There is that..."

"A vampire can also lead a mortal into a trance-like state, where it is easy to suggest that he remember nothing of their encounter the next day. That a tender mark on the skin is nothing more than the remnant of a night of rather exuberant passions--the exact nature of which has escaped one's memories."

"Or perhaps just a really nasty bug bite?" Stewart asked, resisting the urge to reach for his neck.

"Another possibility."

"So vampires are into date rape." Sting shot him a look. "Sorry, but that's what it sounds like."

"Maybe, but that's not what it _is_. It's a symbiosis. Vampires need human blood to survive. And we can give mortals something incredible in return."

"A really nasty hickey?"

"Are you going to let me tell you what happened or are you going to keep interrupting with your typical cutting observations?"

"Sorry. Go on. I'll shut up and behave myself now."

Sting didn't look like he believed _that_ for one moment, but he continued nevertheless. "I saw her in Paris, the first time. I forget exactly where we were playing, but she was there in the audience, not far from the stage. That night she was the only face I saw out of the thousands of people there. I always liked finding someone in the audience to connect to..."

 _You mean fuck after the show,_ Stewart thought to himself, but kept his promise to stay quiet.

"...but with her, once our eyes met, there was no question that I was playing for her and her alone that night. I wasn't surprised she managed to find her way backstage afterwards, but I was very glad for it. I knew I had to have her, and I figured her intentions were the same. I just didn't know the extent to which I was correct until later on, when I took her back at my hotel room.

"She told me her name was Lauren, not that it mattered. We didn't talk much, not at first, anyway. I never even noticed her fangs until they were deep into my throat, and by then I was far past caring."

Stewart shifted a little in his seat. He couldn't help it, but listening to Sting talk about this stuff was getting to him in ways he didn't want to be so obvious.

Sting continued, "The entire experience was incredible, better than any sex I'd ever had. Orgasm may be the 'little death', but this was the real thing. If she had killed me that night, I wouldn't have cared. In fact I wanted it more than anything at that moment."

"But why?"

"You can't understand without experiencing it, Stewart. That's all I can say, I can't put it in words how wonderful it feels--for both parties involved. And it's the danger for vampires--we can't indiscriminately kill every human we take even if they want it; if we did, there'd be no way to keep our existence so quiet. Nor do most of us care to be killers."

"Most."

"Well, there are always a few who run errant, but our society has ways to deal with them. Still, learning to stop before taking too much blood--especially when at that moment a mortal wants nothing more than for you to drain him completely--is one of the most difficult things we must learn to do."

"Is that right."

"I could show you so you'd understand for yourself."

"Let's stick to the story for now, okay?" Stewart said uncomfortably. "You. This vamp chick Lauren. Sucking off probably in more ways than one in a Paris hotel. You want to die. What next."

Sting rose and walked over the balcony railing, one hand gliding over it as if he were recalling the curves of a lover's body. "Lauren was very experienced at what she did. She stopped long before I was at risk, as much as I begged her to continue. And that was when she made her offer: I could become like her. She would take my human life but only if I wanted to become one of her kind. She explained exactly what she was, how she had lived for over four hundred years and known the flesh--the blood--of many great men and women, and offered this chance to live well past human years only to those whose talent and beauty were too great to be destroyed by time."

"How very benevolent of her."

"She told me I could stay young, forever. Remain as vital as I was that day for the rest of time. Of course I would have to accept this new existence, and all the consequences and changes necessary."

"And you said yes."

Sting shook his head. "Not then. I almost did, but something held me back. I think...I was worried about my family more than anything else, at the time. What would Joe do with a vampire for a father? He was still so young, then, and I was still trying to make things work with Frances--and I knew there would be no way she would be able to accept this. And I suppose there was still an unhealthy dose of Catholisism rotting away inside of me, making me fear the wrath of God at becoming an even more unholy creature than I considered myself at the time.

"I told her I couldn't do it. But perhaps, some time later in my life, I might change my mind, if her offer would remain standing. She was clearly disappointed, but told me she would come back some day to find me--if someone else hadn't first. She was gone before dawn, leaving me to wonder if I'd made the right decision. I never told anyone what had happened...well, not for over twenty years. Though I did some research of my own after that night, learned what I could from genuine sources, not fiction."

"Other vampires."

"In some cases."

"Did they make you the same offer as well?"

"A few of them did. I still wasn't quite convinced. And I felt...oddly enough that if I ever were to do it, I owed it to Lauren to let her be the one. She had made the most...compelling argument for it, if nothing else. I assumed she'd hold to her promise to find me again, and eventually she did. Two years ago, in fact, while we were on tour. When we were in Ireland, during the first run through Europe.

"I saw her again in the crowd that night, near the stage, just as she had come to me that first time. She hadn't changed at all--perhaps only her hair. But her face, her eyes, everything else was exactly the same. And I was afraid, because I knew now my answer to her offer would not be the same as it had been years before.

"She found me after the show, as I expected, and was pleased to know I had changed my mind. I did ask her to wait, though, until after the tour. I knew this new life would take...adjustments. But then she explained it wasn't necessarily an immediate transformation. That vampirism was something akin to a virus of the blood, which could take multiple exposures for the 'disease', as it is in a sense, to take hold."

"Exposures, through..."

"...my taking her blood. That much sticks close to legend," Sting explained. "Some human immune systems fight it and resist, though, in rare cases even completely. She urged that I begin the process as soon as possible, in case of any complications. So I let her begin to turn me that night, though in retrospect I probably should have waited as I'd initially wanted. The effect on my system was quite strong and debilitating for several days, as my body seemed keen to resist. I was in a miserable state by the time we arrived in Belgium two days later."

Stewart thought back on the tour, trying to remember that time, any changes he'd noted in Sting. "Wait a minute, now...that was right before we had to cancel a whole series of shows. When you said you had a 'throat infection'!"

"It was as close to the truth as I could reveal," Sting admitted with a small smile. "What else could I have said at the time?"

Stewart shook his head. "Unbelievable..."

"I knew it was risky, but I suppose I was worried I'd lose my chance if I waited any longer. But I did make one final bargain with Lauren--that in order to turn me, she would have to do the same to Trudie as well. I had told her of my encounter with a vampire those years before and she had made it clear she would gladly come across with me. In fact she could barely understand why I'd ever turned down the offer to begin with. Lauren agreed to this arrangement and travelled with us through the rest of the tour that winter, then on to Australia and Japan."

"Did I ever see this person--excuse me, _vampire_ , during all of this time?"

"Probably not. We're quite good at not being seen when we wish to remain unnoticed," Sting explained, then continued with his story. "After that initial illness, my transition began very slowly but smoothly, even if I had to be a little careful to...disguise some of the evidence as Lauren continued to take my blood in exchange for her own."

Sting absently rubbed his chin and neck, and Stewart was struck by another lightbulb moment. "Fuck, is _that_ why you grew that hideous beard? To cover up vampire bites?!"

"For distraction, yes. It made it easier to disguise any other changes that might take place. But they were very gradual, for the most part, including my shift in appetite. The body takes time to adjust, for metabolism to shift, to repair the ravages of time. Lauren never took enough blood from me at any one time to put my life at risk, so taking her blood in return had a more subtle than sudden effect. She felt this was necessary given our high profile at the time, and my initial adverse reaction."

Stewart was still trying come to terms with the fact that all of this had been going on throughout the second half of the tour. It seemed impossible, but then, beyond the soundchecks, the shows, and the occasional afterparty, the band members hadn't really spent much other time together on the road. And there had always been different faces backstage day-to-day, so he supposed he might not have noticed yet another woman hanging about in Sting's significant entourage.

Even so, it seemed crazy. But Sting continued with his story, not giving Stewart much time to digest all of this information. "We did encounter one problem, however. As I said, some humans' resistance to vampirism is strong. Some even to the point of complete immunity, and to attempt to turn those individuals repeatedly when the body rejects it can lead to madness, if not death. Trudie...as desperately as she wanted it..."

"She was immune?" Stewart figured, after Sting trailed off, clearly still pained by this fact.

Sting nodded. "She kept trying, all those months, until Lauren said it was hopeless and I forced her to stop. It would have killed her and I would not allow that to happen. But she was devastated. Enraged. I tried to tell her it didn't matter...that we'd find another way, someday, but..." He paused to shake his head. "She wouldn't hear it. In the months that followed, after the tour was over and we tried to adjust to the way things were now that my transition was complete, I could see she was coming to hate me for what I had become. When she finally said she was leaving with the children, I didn't try to stop her. It probably was best for all of them."

"I'm sorry." It seemed like a useless thing to say, but then, what else could Stewart say? Especially when it all seemed so unreal, so impossible, even as the pieces all slowly began to come together.

Sting merely shrugged it off. "It was the risk we took, one that Lauren had warned us could happen from the start. There is no way of knowing in advance who will take well to the change, and who simply cannot cross over."

"So all of this...this is why you've been so low profile since the tour finished up. And out of touch with the rest of us."

"For the most part. You see the changes in me now, Stewart--it took some time, but there is only so much I can disguise at this point. Differences that were subtle at first are now impossible to hide."

"So where does that leave you, then? Hiding out here in Tuscany forever?"

"There could be far worse fates, don't you think?" Sting smiled, and Stewart, on further reflection, agreed that maybe Sting had a point. "But we're not talking about forever, perhaps only a few decades or so of staying quiet, out of the limelight. Long enough for memories to begin to fade, tastes to change, the world to move on to new things. At that point, so will I. I can reinvent myself when the time is right, come back to the outside world and _go back_ to doing the things that matter most to me--music, performing..."

"...conquering the world all over again?"

"Perhaps. We'll have to just see what the future holds--and that future is now much more open to me than it ever had been before. At some point, though, before too long I'll have to stage my own death."

Sting said it matter-of-factly, as if it meant nothing at all. When Stewart could find nothing to say in response, he continued, "We have people who assist in arranging such matters, you see, along with all other mundane aspects of transitioning from mortal to vampiric existence."

"I...uh...suppose that _would_ be a necessary specialty for the vampire population."

"I've already contracted with a firm to handle everything for me when the time is right. Begun moving assets around as will be required, making the right legal preparations. Making sure Trudie and all the children will be well taken care of, while maintaining enough funds to see myself comfortably through many years to come."

"Very practical of you."

"Yes."

"So the old Stingo dies--in a sense is dead already--but you get to live...forever."

"Perhaps not forever, but at least a very, very long time, if all goes well. We still need mortal blood for sustenance, so if the human race manages to destroy itself foolishly at some point, so will the vampires perish."

"But all that stuff about crosses, silver, sunlight..."

"Exaggerations or complete nonsense," Sting told him. "There _are_ things that can harm us, but we do have remarkable powers of strength, healing, and endurance to combat most threats and bodily damage except of the most extreme."

"Still, though...if vampires are so powerful--and it's such a great deal and all of that--how come you guys aren't completely ruling the world by now?"

"How do you know for certain that we aren't?"

"Ah. _Touché_."

"The truth is, Stewart, we need mortals far more than you need us. And there are a great many reasons why it is best for us to keep our existence quiet. As strong as we might be, we would be outnumbered in any great battle, and quite likely brought to the brink of extinction by those who could never accept us as part of society. So instead we choose to remain nothing but the stuff of legend except to those who can be trusted with our secrets. At least, _some_ of those secrets." Sting moved back to his chair beside Stewart, looking at him now seemingly for his reaction to this entire tale.

Stewart wasn't sure he was really ready to give that quite yet. "This is all just...a little too much information to process in one day, Sting."

"I realize that. But I know I owe you the truth, now, having kept so much quiet before when all of this began. I _wanted_ you to know the truth, that's why I wrote you, asking you to come visit. Besides the fact that, yes, I suppose it has been a bit lonely."

Stewart smirked. "You must _really_ be hard up for company to feel the need to resort to mine."

Sting smiled back at him. "Desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures, don't they?" he replied, and they both shared a laugh at that.

"Okay, okay, so enough with all that other crap. What's with the fangs? Where do they go?" Stewart asked, leaning forward for a better look now that some of the tension had broken.

"Retractable. Like a cat's claws." Sting made a face, upper lip peeling back to reveal his gums. Stewart could see they were slightly enlarged over his canines. "They descend when I need them. Otherwise they would get in the way."

"Yeah, I can see that could get to be a pain--in more ways than one." For a few minutes both fell silent, Stewart trying to make sense of everything, and Sting, well...Stewart couldn't figure out where his thoughts might be. He never had been easy to read--and that had been before all of these changes. On one level he still seemed to be the same person Stewart had known for decades, but at other times--for certain earlier, that afternoon--there clearly seemed to be something or someone _other_ there in him as well. That other left Stewart hesitant and cautious, even now after hearing Sting's story.

"One serious question."

Sting nodded.

"I know you said you vampires try to avoid it or whatever, but...have you killed anyone. Since all of this."

"Once," Sting admitted. "Accidentally. It was...I was foolish and went too long between feedings. I was upset; Trudie had just left and I was doubting the choice I made, wondering if I shouldn't simply let myself starve. By the time I gave in and took someone, I had no control of myself. I couldn't stop until I'd devoured every last drop of blood from this poor woman's body." He looked away, clearly very uncomfortable. "It was one of the household staff who'd come upon me at the wrong time. The matter was taken care of swiftly and quietly, but in the weeks since many of the remaining staff have left. Many others had departed months ago, sensing the changes going on and being too superstitious to remain."

"Well, being eaten is one of those things I guess most employment contracts don't cover in the hazard pay."

"Those who have stayed on are recompensed well for their loyalty, and their secrecy. A few others have been brought on through my connections now within the Italian vampiric community. As surprising as it may sound to you, Stewart, there are humans who are quite willing and eager to be in the employment of our kind. They know there are more than financial rewards to be gained in their efforts for us."

"I'll take your word for it."

Sting got up from his chair and moved to take a seat right next to Stewart on the lounge. "You realize you don't have to just rely on my word." He reached across and placed a hand on Stewart's wrist, the vampire's touch so light and cold against his skin that he had to suppress a shiver.

"Jesus, you're like an icicle..."

"It's been quite a few hours since I fed. And I drank...rather lightly earlier as I was pressed for time."

"I'm sorry, but ew." His touch hadn't seemed so cold before, or had Stewart simply not noticed? Some animal instinct in the back of his brain was telling him to get up and get away, as if Sting were some kind of predator closing in on his prey.

 _Because maybe that's exactly what he is._

"A young vampire is like a newborn, in need of constant nourishment to grow and become stronger. Otherwise my body temperature drops quickly." Sting's softly spoken words seemed to be having a strange effect on Stewart now, their disturbing meaning almost lost on his ears. Sting's hand still rested against Stewart's wrist and his eyes seemed focused there as well. "Fresh blood would warm me."

"Fresh blood... _my_ blood, you mean." Stewart wanted to pull away, but it seemed that all of his strength, his will to leave, was fading under Sting's touch, the almost musical sound of his voice. And when Sting lifted his eyes and held Stewart's in their cool gaze, he felt positively trapped, frozen by fear...and an aching desire.

His mouth had gone dry and he could feel his heart rate accelerating, could hear the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. A strange heat welled inside him, flushing his skin, making him hard, making his skin go damp with sweat.

 _What the hell is he doing to me?_

"A taste would do. It's all I ask for," Sting murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. And now Stewart could see them--the white points of his fangs, revealed behind his parted lips. It was a sight that should have sent him recoiling in horror as it had before, but instead he found himself transfixed, wondering.

Wanting _. Needing_.

"Stewart...I won't hurt you, I promise that. I just want to show you how it feels. Aren't you curious?"

" _Yes_..." he found himself answering, against all his better judgement. Every ounce of common sense he had left was screaming to say no and get out of there, but then he only watched, oddly entranced, as Sting lifted his wrist to his lips, kissing it gently.

"Best to take just a taste, here, further from the heart," Sting murmured, his lips moving slowly up Stewart's arm, every feather-light touch leaving him trembling and desperate for more. "Less chance I'll take too much..."

"If...you say so... _ah_!" Stewart gasped, the sharp, piercing pain pulling him out of his trance-like state, replacing it with shock. He tried to pull away by instinct, but Sting's grip on his arm was too firm, holding him immobile and helpless as his fangs pierced the tender skin under his elbow.  
 __  
This was insane-- _he_ was insane for letting Sting coerce him, and mother _fuck_ it hurt. He could barely bring himself to look down at his arm, at what was happening, to accept that Sting was _feeding_ on him, as sick as it sounded in his mind and made his stomach turn. He was about to call out for help, for Taylor to come get this fucking thing _off_ him but then--

...But.

Then.

 _Then._

Something, suddenly... _changed_.

 _Oh. God._

It was as if the world had shifted around him, everything turned upside down, inside out. Suddenly the pain was all but forgotten and a strange warmth moved through his body from his arm down to his toes, a rush of heat that was at once frightening and incredibly erotic, euphoric. He'd probably experienced most every kind of high out there in his life but none had been quite like this--so instantaneous, so powerful. He felt as though he could simply melt away into it entirely, loose himself in its wonder, and that it would be a _good_ thing, a wonderful thing; the most perfect thing imaginable.

The roar of blood in his ears grew louder with every moment, like waves of the ocean pulling him deep into the undertow. And he would drown beneath those surging currents willingly, eagerly. In that moment he could think of nothing that he wanted more.

His head lulled onto the back of the lounge and he now watched, glassy-eyed, as Sting continued to feed on his blood, at once distanced from what was happening and yet completely aware of every lick, suck, and swallow. A small trickle of red escaped the corner of Sting's lips, trailing down Stewart's arm. Stewart watched it flow, oddly aroused by the sight of it. Sting looked up and met his eyes, and it felt as though he could see right through Stewart, deep into his mind and heart.

 _~Love you...~_

He heard the words, Sting's voice, but it seemed to come from somewhere _inside_ his head--certainly not from the vampire's lips, which were still pressed to Stewart's arm. He felt more connected to Sting in that moment than he'd ever felt with anyone, as if he could lose himself in the other, as if for a moment they could finally share every thought and feeling, every bit of love and passion without the strife, the arguments, the petty misunderstandings which had ruined it for them so many times before.

Maybe he was imagining it all, Stewart thought dimly; this entire thing felt like a hallucination. But did it matter if that was all it was? No, he decided. Not in the slightest. He sighed and his eyes flickered shut. He was content in that moment to simply let it all wash over him like a dream, one from which he wished he'd never wake up.

But then he cried out in protest when, suddenly, he felt a loss of that contact. He blinked open his eyes and saw Sting had stopped feeding, and was kissing and licking at his arm instead. The pain of his withdrawing was far worse than the initial bite of those fangs had been and Stewart whimpered, wanting more, not ready for it to be over.

"Not easy for me to stop either, love, but I'm not taking any chances," Sting said, clearly sensing Stewart's desires.

Stewart tried to bring himself back from the strange state he'd fallen into, but his thoughts were still scattered and shattered, his ears ringing and body humming with a strange kind of energy. "Shit, Sting...I feel..."

"High? It's something secreted from my fangs, like a venom. Makes victims passive. It will fade in a little while."

"No, it's more than that, I..."

"I know, Stewart...believe me, I know."

Sting rubbed his arm softly, over the spot where already the flow of blood had slowed to a gentle trickle. Stewart noticed the difference in Sting's touch now, those fingers which had felt like ice before now so much warmer, almost like fire burning his skin. Sting lifted his fingers to his lips and licked away the last drops of blood until they were clean. Stewart thought it might have been the most sensual thing he'd ever seen.

"It felt so weird..."

"What did?" Sting asked.

"All of it. Like you were...in my head, or something..."

"Not your head. Your heart."

"What did you find there?"

Sting looked at him but didn't answer, and even through the haze of his muddled thoughts Stewart felt frustrated by his ever-elusive nature. "Just lie down, let me bring you some water," Sting finally answered, taking hold of Stewart's shoulders lightly and urging his willing body into a recumbent position on the lounge.

"Sting..." Stewart tried to stop him, reaching up to grasp his arm--but the vampire was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving him alone and confused, still shaky, still wondering what exactly had just happened.

And yet, lying down like this...lying down _did_ seem like a very good idea. So did sleep. A deep, long sleep, one free of nightmares and demons chasing him around.

 _After all, I've faced one demon head-on tonight. And it wasn't so bad, I suppose...not so bad at all..._

He was out completely before he'd barely finished the thought.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

"Stewart...yo, Stew! C'mon, wake up... _Stewart!_ "

"Ow!" Stewart winced at the voice shouting in his ear. "Okay, enough with the yelling, I'm up. I'm up!"

Usually he liked nothing better than Taylor waking him up in the morning, but not when he did so by shouting and shaking him so hard Stewart thought he was going to lose his stomach.

"What the fuck, man! What the hell you doing sleeping out here?"

"Out _where_?" Groggy, grumpy and feeling rather like he'd been run over by a truck, Stewart blinked open unwilling eyes and squinted painfully into the bright sunlight. What he saw only added to his confusion.

He wasn't in bed as he'd first assumed, that much was obvious. He propped himself up even as his back screamed at him for the abuse, and then looked around at his surroundings, trying to sort things out in his throbbing head.

He was on the balcony. Why had he fallen asleep on the balcony?

Why had he come out here at all?

Then, he slowly began to remember, bits and pieces of the night before returning to him.

Sitting here on this lounge, late last night...

With Sting...and him telling his story...

...and then...

 _Oh. That's right._

 _...Damn._

"I woke up this morning wondering where you'd disappeared to," Taylor continued. "Saw the balcony door was open and took a look, found you crashed out like this. What happened? You coulda kicked me if I was snoring too loud."

"No, it wasn't you, Taylor. Sorry if I scared you. I couldn't sleep last night, for whatever reason. Ended up coming out here and...talking to Sting 'till pretty late." He left out the rest of what had happened. "I must've dosed off before making it back to bed."

Stewart now saw a glass of water resting on the small table by the lounge, untouched since, apparently, Sting had brought it out for him after he'd already fallen deep asleep. He certainly didn't remember anything after Sting left him to sleep off the effects his little "midnight snack." Stewart reached for the water and grimaced in pain, and glancing down saw the underside of his arm for the first time.

"Shit, what the fuck happened to your arm!" Taylor noticed it immediately as well and took hold of Stewart's wrist, leaning in to examine the marks and bruising on the underside of his elbow. It looked like a sloppy nurse had gone digging around for a vein, leaving two distinct puncture marks and the area surrounding them discolored and bruised.

"Huh, look at that. I don't know what happened," Stewart answered lamely, pulling his arm away. "I guess it was another bug got me while I was out here." He wasn't exactly ready to tell Taylor the truth of what had happened. Not only wasn't he sure if Taylor would _believe_ him, he felt more than a little guilty about it as well.

The way Sting had made him feel...Stewart could sense his body flushing with heat just thinking back on it, even if remembering the sight of Sting feeding on his blood made his already queasy stomach turn.

"Fucking goddamned killer bugs around this place. C'mon, you should put something on that, make sure it doesn't get infected or some shit. Maybe we should get a doctor to look at that, what if--"

"Taylor, I'll be fine. It's just a little sore right now is all." Stewart rubbed the back of his stiff neck, using his good arm, wondering what it was going to take to get over this vampire "hangover" from which he was suffering pretty badly. "I could use a nice hot shower to get the kinks out of my back after sleeping on this thing, though."

Taylor pouted at him. "But I like it when you're kinky."

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you help me up and to the bathroom, so I'm not just grouchy?"

*

On this day, for a change, Sting was waiting for them in the breakfast room when they came downstairs. He looked pale, again, in the filtered daylight coming through the curtained windows, but not as ghostly white as the day before.

"Good morning...or afternoon, whichever it is. I seem to lose track of time so easily these days," he greeted them, putting aside the newspaper he'd been flipping through.

"Easy to do around here, though I think it's still morning," Stewart answered, checking his watch. It read quarter of noon. "...Barely. I thought you had some big business or something to go deal with today?"

"I do, but not until later in the afternoon. There's fresh coffee for you. Shall I have Cecilia bring it out?"

"Nah, I'll go get it," Taylor said, slipping away into the kitchen.

Stewart sat down in the chair across from Sting. "How are you feeling?" Sting asked him.

"Kind of like I've got the mother of all hangovers."

"It'll pass, just drink plenty of water to flush out your system. You might want to take some B-twelve vitamins as well. Good for the blood."

"Gee, thanks." Stewart placed his hand the inside of his arm instinctively, which he had covered now with a long-sleeved shirt. "Taylor found me passed out on the balcony this morning."

"You were sleeping so soundly I thought it best to leave you there. Did you tell him what happened?"

"No, not yet. I thought I'd leave you those honors, if you wanted to share."

"I've no reason not to, as long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Saying I'm comfortable with any of this is a bit of a stretch, Sting. But at the same time, I don't see any reason not to tell him the truth."

"The truth about what?" Taylor asked, putting a coffee cup in front of Stewart and sitting down beside him with one of his own.

"Something that can wait until a little later," Sting replied. "Have you decided on your plans for the day?"

"I think we might go for a drive around to town, like you had suggested," Stewart answered. Despite the huge size of the estate, he was beginning to feel a little...clausterphobic being here and eager to get out. Get a taste of the world outside the magic Stingdom even though they'd only been here not even two full days.

"It's a lovely village, with history going back to medieval times, perhaps even longer. There's a wonderful restaurant just off the central square...I forget the name but you'll surely see it, it's in a building at least seven hundred years old. I haven't been there myself in ages..." Sting trailed off wistfully.

"Too bad you can't join us," Stewart said.

"Yes, it is. But I'm sure you'll have a lovely afternoon, just let Cecilia know if you'll be back for dinner or not. You'll have to excuse me now, I have some things to take care of before my meetings later on."

As he got up to leave and walked past him, Sting placed his hand on Stewart's shoulder briefly. It was only the simplest touch, and yet for that moment an echo ran through Stewart's body of the way he'd felt the night before--that amazing connection they'd shared, the euphoria, energy coursing between them, pouring _out_ of him--

\--And it was gone the moment Sting let his hand slip away and left the room, leaving Stewart even more disoriented and shaken.

 _Jesus. It's bad enough the things he does to me already. Don't tell me now I'm going to feel like_ **_that_ ** _every time he touches me._

"Hey, you okay?" Taylor asked, sliding his hand over Stewart's, which had suddenly gone cold and clammy.

"What's that?"

"All of a sudden you turned a nasty shade of green."

"Oh. Guess I'm feeling kind of off, still. It's nothing. I'll feel better with a little food in me." He pulled his hand away and wrapped it around his coffee cup, savoring its warmth.

Taylor looked like he was ready to say something else, but got distracted as a woman came out of the kitchen with one plate piled high with freshly baked pastries and another with enough fruit to make Carmen Miranda jealous.

 _"Buon giorno, signori,"_ she said cheerily to them, placing the ample feast on the table.

" _Buon giorno_ ," Stewart answered. It was the same woman who had brought him breakfast the morning before--Cecilia, Stewart assumed now was her name. Catching her eye, he wondered whether she was one of Sting's staff who had stayed on to enjoy the extra "benefits" of the job, or if she had been brought in after his change. Or if she had no idea at all what was going on, but that seemed highly unlikely. He couldn't quite picture Sting getting off sucking on this older woman's blood, but then again there was an awful lot he was beginning to learn about Sting this trip that he'd never known before. At this point he didn't think anything else could really surprise him.

"I make fresh eggs for you as well, just one moment," she said.

"You keep feeding us like this, Cecilia, I may never want to leave," he teased her before she hurried back to the kitchen.

"So this thing Sting has to tell me...is it what you guys were up talking about last night?" Taylor asked, as he picked up one of the flaky pastries and gave it a bite.

"Yeah."

"And what's had you all kinds of freaked out since yesterday but you wouldn't tell me then."

"Mm."

"Can I guess what it is? Will you let me know if I'm right?"

"You can try to guess, Taylor, but I really don't think you're going to figure it out."

"Okay. But if I _do_ figure it out, what do I win?"

Stewart smirked as he tried to decide on a suitable prize. "When we get home, I'll give Bud and Phaira their baths for a month. _And_ take them out for their morning walks."

"Nice."

"But you're not going to guess correctly. There's no possible way," Stewart said, sure of himself as he picked up his coffee cup for another sip.

"Sting's a vampire, isn't he?"

Stewart spit his coffee out nearly clear across the table. "Wait a minute, how the _fuck_..."

Taylor slammed his fist down and let out a whoop of triumph. "Holy shit, I knew it!"

"Since fucking _when_ did you know it?!"

"Since I found you this morning. Your arm." Taylor grabbed it again and pushed up Stewart's sleeve to reveal his wounds. "I'm not stupid. I knew that wasn't no fucking bug bite, 'cause I've seen marks like that before." He looked at Stewart seriously and admitted, "Maybe I've had some personal experience with vampires, too."

"You? When?"

Taylor shrugged. "Long time ago, before I knew you. Doesn't matter. Some chick after a show. I've had a few more of 'em try to get their fangs on me since, but she was the only one I ever let do it."

"Apparently the rock-and-roll world is overrun with groupie vampires. Why the fuck am I the last one to know about these things?"

"Maybe you're just not their type."

"That hurts. The pun, I mean."

"Sorry, couldn't help it. Seems your Sting's type though, but I always knew that anyway." Taylor let go of Stewart's arm and went back to his pastry. In between bites, he continued, "Once I saw _that_ this morning, everything else that's been so weird this trip made sense--the way Sting looks, not eating with us, the odd hours..."

"Taylor, you never cease to amaze me."

"I know. I'm sexy _and_ smarter than the average drummer. It's a lethal combination." He grinned. "And now you have to give the dogs a _ba-ath_ ," he sing-songed.

"Sneaky bastard. So I guess the surprise is going to be on Stingo instead."

"I guess so." Taylor grabbed some grapes and started picking them apart from their cluster. "It felt good, didn't it?" he asked.

"Getting bitten? Mm, yeah, I suppose."

"No fucking suppose about it. Did you guys do anything else?"

"No, Taylor. We didn't."

"I'm just curious. The one that took a bite on me, she did it while I was fucking her. I don't think I ever came as hard as I did that night."

"That's nice."

"It was. But it was also pretty fucking creepy. Whenever I've seen any others like her since then, I always fucking ran away. Some guys I know really get off on that shit, but...vampires aren't...they're _different_ , you know? Inside. Not human. Even when we were having sex...I felt like she only saw me as raw meat."

"You're saying Sting's not the person he used to be."

"Well I always thought he was kind of a cold fish--even if he is a good fuck. But I know...dude, I know you care about him. I'd just be careful. Watch your back--and your neck."

"I will." Stewart thought things over for a minute, then suggested, "If you're worried, we could get out of here. Call this trip a wash, or go spend the rest of the week somewhere else--Florence, Rome, Siena, you name it. We'll get in the car today and go, and not come back."

"Nah. Let's wait and see what happens now." Taylor popped a grape in his mouth, swallowed it and then grinned. "Seems to me things could just be starting to get interesting..."


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

The walled city of Figline Valdarno definitely looked like something out of a medieval legend, the modern buildings on the outskirts of the valley yielding to old, ancient structures as they drove closer to the town square. Many of the buildings bore similar burgundy-tiled roofs and yellow ochre walls, stained and scarred from the centuries they had been standing. Shops and businesses lined the streets from behind arched doorways and sidewalks which had seen countless years of foot traffic. An open market on one narrow alley was filled with stalls of fresh fruit and vegetables, old women carefully debating the ripeness of this particular melon versus that one while the vendors rushed about in a flurry of activity, shouting and gesticulating at their customers.

Stewart had to admit that he loved cities like this. You didn't live amongst this kind of history and long-standing culture in America; you didn't have towns or homes which had been in place for hundreds of years, sometimes over half a millennium if not longer. You certainly didn't have them in California, where age and tradition were things to be cursed and avoided at all cost, not embraced.

 _Maybe you also didn't have people--or rather vampires--who had been living there for all those hundreds of years as well._ Or maybe you did, these days. Perhaps there was no better place on Earth for the forever young and beautiful to make their home than the glittering, fast-paced streets of the City of Angels. Stewart had plenty of questions yet for Sting about all of that; in fact, he had more questions the longer he thought about everything, wondering how things really worked for vampires out in the world-at-large, this secretive society they supposedly had, the physiology of these not-quite human beings. But for this afternoon he was going to try _not_ to think about it for a while, as difficult as that might prove to be. He just wanted to have a nice day out and about with Taylor, sightseeing and enjoying spending time together on their own.

So they spent the following hours on a leisurely browse through the town's businesses and few attractions, which clearly wouldn't take them more than one day to explore. This was no Florence or Milan, just a small town which saw few tourists at all, usually only those on day trips to and from elsewhere. Shopping proved a bit of a challenge as a result, as unlike in the larger cities, English was not so frequently spoken and neither of their Italian went very far beyond "please", "thank you", and "where's the bathroom?" But with a lot of patience, a good amount of hand gesturing, and occasionally a touch of Stewart's French, they ended up quite a few hundred Euros lighter in the pocket and several shopping bags of merchandise richer.

"You should have bought those pants, dude. They were fucking hot," Taylor said as they left one leather shop, a visit to which had led to significant damage to the wallet.

"Taylor, my leather pants days are long behind me."

"That's bullshit. Besides, then we could have matched. That would've been cute."

"I'm going to get enough enjoyment from seeing you squirm and sweat your way into your own pair."

"As long as you help me out of them later on."

"It will be my duty and great honor."

The town had only a few historical sites of real note, including a few Renaissance-era churches and a monastery. They poked their heads inside one such monument, the _Chiesa di San Francesco_ , whose doors were open and Stewart was curious to see what lay inside. You never knew what you would find inside these old churches in Italy; some in even the most remote villages could hold priceless works of art that would make the biggest museum curators drool with envy.

"It's neat how old this shit is, isn't it?" Taylor observed, gazing around at the structure's softly lit interior.

"Don't swear in church, Taylor." Stewart did not consider himself to be particularly religious, at least not in the institutionalized way, but something about a place like this demanded one's respect and quiet reflection. From the dramatic frescoes decorating the curved ceiling high over their heads to the dramatic paintings of saints, angels and biblical stories along the walls...the entire place spoke of a time when art and architecture had a higher calling, a greater meaning than it did to most today. He couldn't help but wonder if anyone in today's modern era, with all of our "advanced" technology and knowledge, actually had the skill and ability to create something such as this building today.

Walking around, they looked at the various works of art, including the very old, rather disturbingly realistic crucifix which illustrated clearly the suffering on Christ's face as he hung nailed to the cross. Built in a time when most people could not read, nor understand the words spoken by the priests, it was the visual imagery within the church that had to inspire awe and piousness, to tell the stories and lessons to the parishioners. Even now, after all this time, the place could still have a similar effect on visitors, creating a strong aura of wonder and faith in something greater.

Entering into a small side chapel, no doubt built for a wealthy family of the area long ago, they stood before what Stewart recognized as a classic painting of the Annunciation. In it the angel Gabriel, a beautiful winged figure with hand outstretched, was shown revealing to Mary her fate that she was to be the mother to the son of God. The huge canvas was darkened from centuries of candle smoke and pollution, paint cracked like a spider's web yet still not losing its power to capture the viewer in Mary's powerful, strangely haunted gaze, and the angel's grace and reverence before her.

So much time since this and the other paintings had first been placed upon these walls...and these works, in their age and delicate condition, were all these artists had left behind to mark their lives. They were all incredible and yet known and seen by very few in this small city in the valleys of Tuscany. None of the names on the descriptive placards before the artworks rang a bell, though Stewart was no great student of art history. But still, it gave him some pause to think about the passage of time, the fragility of the works one left behind as an artist--the marks that any person left behind upon the world as well, which seemed to take on a whole new meaning to him in light of Sting's recent revelations.

He thought of vampires like Sting's Lauren, out there to know the blood of great creators and artists. To "save" them from the ravages of time if they were deemed important enough; beautiful enough. What artists of the past might have become vampires upon her (or others') invitations? Were any of them still laboring away in quiet somewhere today, keeping their talents, their ancient secrets alive? What greatness could have been achieved if some of the finest such as Da Vinci, Michelangelo or Raphael had had that chance for immortality in both the flesh _and_ their creations--and would they have taken it?

 _Perhaps some of them have--and if so, where are they now and what have they been up to in all of this time? Now there's a conspiracy for the ages..._

It made him wonder, too, what things would Sting manage to do with centuries ahead of him to continue creating music. Or what he _himself_ could do, if given the same opportunity.

The last thought stopped Stewart, for a moment, intriguing yet oddly chilling at the same time. The possibility hadn't really entered his mind before, but now that it had, he could see why it could be such a temptation, such a difficult offer to refuse regardless of every other aspect, good and bad, which came along with the proposition.

Because no artist--painter, musician, or writer--ever had enough hours in the day to create, for all the ideas in the mind to find expression. Stewart knew this well enough from too many years slipped by with great plans come to naught, ideas tucked away in notebooks and boxes of files but never given full attention because there simply wasn't the time for them.

But if one had _endless_ time...

"This place is giving me the creeps," Taylor suddenly announced, pulling Stewart out of his thoughts. "I never liked church. Always made me feel guilty and shi--stuff, you know?"

"I hear ya. What's say we vamoose?"

"Vamoosing sounds good. More shopping, less spooky churches."

They turned to head back to the exit, though Stewart paused one last time before a prickett stand of candles along the side aisle. Fishing in his pocket, he found a few Euro coins and dropped them into the donation box, then picked up one of the thin sticks with which to light a candle.

"Who's that for?" Taylor asked.

"Whoever needs it the most," Stewart answered. Sting, his family, Taylor...maybe even himself, he wasn't sure.

Maybe it was for all of them.

*

After a little more wandering about until the shops began to close for the night, they ended up finding what had to be the restaurant Sting had recommended. A quaint-looking trattoria in one of those old ochre-colored buildings, they decided to give it a try, seeing few other choices in the area and with their stomachs beginning to rumble for sustenance.

"I can't read a thing on this menu," Taylor said, staring blankly at the sheet of paper in front of him upon which no English-translation was provided.

"I think I can guess my way through things," Stewart assured him. He thought he recognized at least one or two words in each item on the menu well enough to have at least some inkling of what they'd be ordering. "What do you feel like tonight, pasta? Chicken? Fish?"

"Pasta. And you know, stuff. But not too much stuff, like, _on_ the pasta."

"Great. That's real helpful." So he'd get to play interpreter _and_ mindreader tonight.

"Do they have steak? You should have steak. Good for the blood." Stewart glanced over at Taylor with a raised eyebrow. "What? Well, you are looking a little pale today thanks to Sting's late-night suckfest."

" _Prego,_ " the waitress interrupted, coming over to take their order.

Stewart slaughtered some Italian and gesticulated his way through picking what hopefully would make for a decent meal which met Taylor's strict guidelines for "stuff". After she departed, Stewart said, "I guess we've managed to avoid the subject of our newly revealed vampire rather successfully for most of the day, but I think we need to talk about...um..."

"Stuff?" Taylor helpfully supplied.

"Yeah. Stuff." Stewart sighed, trying to figure out the best way to tackle what could be a delicate subject. "Taylor, if you're upset or pissed about what happened with me and Sting last night, I want you to tell me--"

"I'm not," Taylor insisted, but Stewart kept looking at him, waiting for more than that quick denial which he didn't believe for one moment. Taylor fidgeted for a while before admitting, "Okay, maybe I am, a little. But it's got me worried more than anything else. Mostly 'cause I'm not sure what Sting is up to right now beyond fucking with our heads--especially yours."

"He said last night he wanted me to know the truth of what's been going on with him. And that he's been, well...lonely." Stewart had filled Taylor in on some of what had happened with Trudie leaving, and the highlights of the rest of Sting's story earlier on their drive to town. "Maybe he just wanted to spend time with old friends?"

"And lunch on them while he's at it? Stewart, what if...ah, never mind." Taylor stopped himself as the waitress had returned with some bread and _aqua frizzante,_ along with a beer for Stewart.

"No, no never mind. What if what?"

Taylor shrugged and shook his head, taking a sip of his water, still fidgeting and playing with his hair nervously. "Shit, I don't know. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but what if he's on the prowl for someone to keep him company, like, more...long term. I don't want that someone for him to be after to be you. I mean...a fuck every so often for old time's sake, fine, whatever. Shit happens. And you're his friend so you want to be there when he's got shit to sort out. But this vampire stuff throws everything out of whack."

"I know it does." Stewart chewed slowly on a piece of bread, pondering Taylor's voiced concerns, knowing they weren't too far off from his own.

Sting had always been a tricky factor in their relationship, a sticky wicket impossible to navigate around nor fully ignore. Stewart had never denied to Taylor what he had in the past and still felt for him--though with that was the clear knowledge that theirs was a relationship, no matter how deep or strong their feelings, which had too many difficulties and differences to ever be able to sustain itself. And Stewart had always thought that in Trudie, Sting had found someone who was a much better match in temperament and understanding, much as Taylor was to himself.

There had been a stability and a balance to their relationships and the tension between them all, a certainty that even if they occasionally pushed at and gave themselves over to still-lingering desires, it could only be a temporary diversion, and one that had to be undertaken carefully. The one night that he, Sting and Taylor had spent together in Vancouver had proven that quite clearly, for as wonderful as it had been at the time, it had exposed so much between them all that it had nearly led to disaster from not addressing those problems soon enough thereafter.

And now Sting was a vampire, and had lost his partner in Trudie. That he should reach out to Stewart for some comfort, understanding, and companionship at this time wasn't the most surprising thing. But Stewart knew that he had to be careful--much more careful than he'd been so far these past few days. He wasn't so sure that Sting was out to "lure" him into some kind of longer term "partnership" again--of whatever kind--but he could not let Sting's wants and needs, nor his own hangups and issues, compromise what he had with Taylor.

"Okay, now you've gone all quiet and broody on me," Taylor said, pulling Stewart back to the present. In his eyes, Stewart saw his lover's worries and fears and reached across the table to touch Taylor's hand, squeezing it lightly in reassurance.

"I'm just reminding myself how lucky I am to have you. And that nothing--no one--should ever let me forget it."

"Well you know I won't," Taylor answered with a small smile.

"Good. I'm holding you to that."

The waitress soon brought them salads, basic plates of fresh arugula and aged cheese with balsamic and oil on the side. The light flavor was sharp and cleansing to the palate and somehow even to the mind, giving Stewart a different perspective on the many thoughts in his mind.

 _Life is about these good things--these_ **_simple_ ** _things--as much as anything else. Spending time with and not taking for granted the people you love and who love you._

 _A cold bottle of beer, simple nourishing food, a smile from a crazy golden-haired kid who for whatever reason adores you. If you can't appreciate these things--if you can't_ **_experience_ ** _them any longer--how can you really create anything of deeper value? Could an artist robbed of his mortality and ability to enjoy these things still feel the passion to continue his work? Maybe not. Look even at Sting--what has he done since this change, anything? Maybe the promise of eternity doesn't live up to the reality._

Yet more questions to ponder. But for the rest of their meal he put them aside, content to indulge in a few hours of easy pleasures.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun had set and darkness settled fully over the countryside by the time Stewart and Taylor returned to the estate. The afternoon and evening out in the nearby town had provided a welcome diversion, and Stewart could feel a certain unease settling over him in returning to Il Palagio. Taylor, for his part, remained unusually quiet for most of the drive, either tired out from the long day or lost in his own thoughts and reflections.

"Looks like Stingo has some other company this evening," Stewart noted as he drove up to the carpark, pulling in next to a black Alfa Romeo and a red Ferrari, neither of which had been there that afternoon when they'd left.

"Wonder if it's normal peeps or more bloodsuckers," Taylor said.

"Either way, they've clearly got money to burn on high-end wheels." Stewart was a little apprehensive about going into the house, not sure he'd be too keen on encountering Sting's visitors whether human or vampire. He'd hoped that whatever "business" Sting had needed to attend to today would have been over before their return or take place somewhere other than here, but it looked as though they would not be so fortunate.

Indeed, they were just passing through the entry foyer of the main house as three figures appeared at the top of the central staircase. Sting was not among them. Two men and one woman, they were quietly talking amongst themselves as they took to the steps, slowly descending. The men showed no particular interest in Stewart and Taylor, but the woman's gaze locked on Stewart's as soon as she noted their presence, and she gave him a predatory smile.

Vampires, definitely. Stewart somehow knew it immediately. Considering he hadn't even known of their existence until the day before, now it seemed he could spot one on sight. All three of them shared the same pale complexion and gave off a palpable aura of impossible beauty, strength...

And danger. Not unlike Sting, now, but at least he _knew_ Sting.

The woman in particular unnerved him. Petite yet commanding in presence, her long dark hair framed a beautiful, European face, one which looked as though it belonged in a Renaissance-era painting with its timeless elegance. For all Stewart knew, perhaps it had graced more than a few works of art, as hers was a face that could inspire anyone--though she was certainly no Virgin Mary. From her youthful features she looked barely past her late teenage years, and yet it was clear in her eyes, the way she carried herself, that she was older than that. Far, _far_ older.

 _Lauren._

Stewart knew it without question. Not because he suddenly recognized her, putting her face to any he had seen during the last tour or otherwise...he just _knew_. This was a woman who could make a man do anything for her. If she had come to him instead of Sting, Stewart doubted he would have faired any better in resisting her charms, or damning offers. She could tell you to jump off a bridge or slit your lover's throat, and most men would be hard-pressed to find the inner strength to tell her no.

" _Buona sera, signori._ I hope that you are both enjoying your time here in this beautiful place," she said to Stewart and Taylor, wasting no time on introductions which were clearly unnecessary. Her voice was melodious, accent unplaceable. But after a few hundred years traversing the world, that was hardly unsurprising. Wherever she originally hailed from was unimportant; she belonged to everywhere, every time, possessing the perfect beauty for every era of history.

"It's been...full of surprises," Stewart answered, finding his mouth dry and his words difficult to form. He noticed that, though still quiet, Taylor had shifted into a stance very close to him, almost protectively so. Taylor's eyes were focused on the two others who stood back from Lauren, watching them all yet looking impatient, indifferent.

"Good surprises, I hope," she said, brushing her hair back from her neck. Stewart could not help but notice the two red marks there on her pale skin, small and precisely placed. Immediately the image of Sting feeding on her vampiric blood came to mind, startlingly vivid, intensely erotic. He forced himself to look away to break the hold she seemed so effortlessly able to put a man under.

He put his hand on Taylor's shoulder to steady himself. "The jury's still out on that."

She smiled at him again, and in her dark eyes an amber glow sparked and burned, a fire that beckoned one to fall into its flames.

" _Andiamo. Si sta facendo tardi_ ," one of the other vampires said gruffly, coming up behind Lauren and appearing in no mood to observe her games.

She seemed reluctant to move on, but eventually nodded her head slightly and said, "Perhaps some other time, then, we can...become better acquainted. I should like that."

"I'm sure you would," Taylor finally put in, his voice almost a growl.

She only smiled and laughed softly, though the sound brought little mirth to the two humans in the room. The three visitors then moved past Stewart and Taylor, who both remained silent from that point on, watching them warily and on tense guard until they'd departed the house, the front door closing solidly behind them.

Stewart then heard Taylor letting out the deep breath he'd been holding. "Mother _fuck_. All vamps, weren't they?"

"I think that was pretty obvious."

"That girl, holy _shit_. She was..."

"Yeah." Taylor didn't need to finish his thought for Stewart to agree with the sentiment. "Though I'm thinking _unholy_ might be the more appropriate term."

"Maybe you had the right idea about getting out of here. One of those things is enough to deal with, but Sting _and_ his bloodsucking superfriends? I ain't too sure about that..."

"I think we're safe for the night." _At least from Sting's "friends,"_ Stewart added to himself. Lauren's associates had seemed much more eager to depart than to linger and make a meal of the two of them. "Come on, let's drop these bags off and find Sting."

The first part of Stewart's plan was easily accomplished, but the second half, not so much. They wandered around for some time without finding signs of the elusive "master of the house" anywhere.   
__  
_Maybe he doesn't want to be found right now,_ Stewart was beginning to wonder, in which case leaving well enough alone seemed perhaps to be a wise course of action. But then he paused at the end of the second floor corridor, where a door led to the servant's stairwell.

As he pushed open the door, he could hear music.

"I should have figured..." he said, shaking his head and smiling, then waving Taylor over to join him.

Sting had shown him and Andy this stairwell during the tour rehearsals. Narrow and spiraling down into a small, wood-paneled room before opening into the kitchen pantry, Sting had long ago discovered the unique acoustics of the space, finer by far than even his expensive, custom-built studio. Sound magically echoed off the walls as if it were a concert hall, whether one sat near the top or down at the bottom, which was where Sting was now. The only light in the space was provided by a single old lamp and an array of candles, placed along the walls and the narrow benches lining them. Sting sat surrounded by the soft golden glow, head down as he concentrated on the movements of his fingers over the lute's strings.

He did not look up as Stewart and Taylor descended the steps to join him, not until they were near the bottom, and Stewart could see other instruments were there in the small room, waiting for someone to play them.

"This certainly feels familiar," Stewart said, sitting down across from Sting and picking up an acoustic guitar. They'd spent many ends-of-the-day in here with a few bottles of wine and various instruments, jamming away at things that sounded brilliant in this stairwell, even if they would never have any place outside of it. Sting lifted his gaze and smiled at him, and Stewart couldn't help but notice how he looked positively _glowing_ at the moment, completely refreshed and alive.

 _No surprise, if he'd just been taking a bite with--or rather, **on** \--the vampire who made him._ Stewart didn't exactly know what all went on between them still and wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know, but the after-effects on Sting were clear for him to see.

 _And he's playing music--the first I've heard of it since we arrived._ Perhaps Lauren really did serve as muse as well as maker for her chosen ones.

"I thought it would be a pleasant way to spend some time this evening," Sting said casually, looking back down at the lute's strings. That damned thing had never been far from Sting's side all through the tour, making it (and him) the butt of quite a few jokes among the crew, but Stewart had refrained for the most part from joining them. Sting's fascination and reverence for the instrument might have seemed odd to most, but Stewart was not one to make fun of something that clearly brought out Sting's passion and love for music--of any kind.

And at least he didn't play jazz on it.

"Business went well today, I take it?" Stewart asked.

"Splendid."

"We ran into your associates on their way out," Stewart strummed at a few chords, listening to the way the notes echoed off the walls.

"Did you."

"Yeah. Real gregarious types." He passed the acoustic guitar to Taylor and instead picked up a bass. "Taylor, this is where we spent most of our lost evenings here in the Magic Stingdom, making curious noises under the stairs. Why don't you pick something to start with tonight?"

"Sure, um...like what?"

"Like anything. I know you know your classics. Nothing too recent, though, or we'll loose the old man over there."

"Speak for yourself," Sting objected.

"All right, all right, let's see..." Taylor played around for a while, checking out the tuning and feel of the guitar before eventually sliding into a bluesy riff from an old Cream tune. "Strange Brew," of all things. It did seem oddly appropriate.

"That works," Stewart agreed, joining in with the bass guitar after a few bars. Sting sat back, just watching and listening for a while, then put aside his lute in favor of another acoustic guitar, harmonizing with Taylor and playing off the groove he'd started.

Taylor eventually picked up the lyrics, singing them in his somehow both fragile-and-rugged voice that worked so well for the classic rock songs he loved.

 _"Strange brew, killin' what's inside of you..."_

They riffed off the song for a rather endless time, eventually diverting off into some Hendrix, a little Kinks...anything and everything from their mixed musical roots and old favorites. Taylor and Sting traded off vocal duties, challenging each other to remember obscure lyrics while Stewart ribbed them both when their memories failed. Through the music, there was little time to think or worry about other matters--probably why this sort of jamming had been such a salve during the intense rehearsals two years before. Music had brought Stewart and Sting together to begin with, and had also been what had first provided the connection between Stewart and Taylor as well. Playing together without objective, without goals or plans beyond creating something to enjoy in that moment was very different to trying to orchestrate something to sell to the world outside and at large.

Stewart had no idea how late it had become when Sting finally put aside his guitar, stood and stretched. "We'll be at this all night if we're not careful."

"No one's here to stop us, is there?" Stewart asked, knowing Sting was right but having too good of a time to want to stop now.

"No, but we should save some energy for tomorrow if we're to have a nice day out and about." Sting began blowing out the candles, though he kept one lit for himself and one each for Stewart and Taylor, handing them out to help make their way in the dark. "I didn't even get to ask you about your day in town. But you can tell me about it tomorrow."

He moved closer to give Stewart a kiss on the cheek. The touch, for a moment, once again left Stewart feeling a soft echo of their connection before, but fainter than it had been in the morning. Stewart found this both a relief and slightly disappointing.

"Good night," Sting said, then moved to Taylor to give him a light kiss as well, before departing through the doorway at the bottom of the steps.

Taylor yawned. "Weird day."

"Good day--for the most part. But definitely a long one. C'mon, let's get to bed."


	10. Chapter 10

X.

That night Stewart finally enjoyed a peaceful, deep sleep--in bed, not out on the balcony, either--and woke up in a rather bright mood because of it. The usual morning aches and pains were still there, joints stiff and in need of warming up before facing the day, but Taylor was--also as usual--ready and quite willing to help him limber up.

Even Taylor had to remark, "You're in a good mood today."

"I'm normally not?"

Taylor snorted. "Not before your first cup of coffee."

"I had a good time yesterday." The two of them off together exploring, then coming back to the house to jam into the late hours of the night with Sting... Stewart could think of few better ways to spend a day, vampires and all other strange business aside. The bruises on his arm from the previous night had faded, admittedly much faster than the memory of the experience that had caused them. Though he still had his worries and questions about Sting, at the moment they seemed less pressing. "And today should be..."

"...interesting?"

"At the very least. Come on, let's get that coffee, now that you mentioned it."

They were well through another ample breakfast and fully caffeinated by the time Sting joined them, looking a little bleary-eyed, pale and somewhat worse for wear. "You both have me up far earlier than I'm accustomed," he complained as he sat down, chin resting wearily on his hands.

"Such a hardship, I'm sure," Stewart answered, having to smile as he was reminded for a moment of days long past. The sight of Sting made him think of mornings out on the road thirty years ago--staggering their way into some roadside dive or diner after getting kicked out of their hotels at noon, hungover and groggy, in dire need of some fuel to get them onto the bus and to the next town.

 _Thirty years, and look at us now. Look at_ **_him_ ** _now, almost the same..._

Stewart shook the thought from his mind and asked, "So what's the plan for today, then?"

"Do you enjoy horseback riding, Taylor? I know Stewart does."

"I'm no expert, but I've done it a few times."

"I thought we'd take the horses out, that way we could travel more distance than by foot. There are some trails that will take us to some lovely areas on the estate, I'm sure you've not seen before, Stewart."

"Sounds good to me."

"I've already asked Cecilia to make a picnic lunch. We may be gone most of the day, and that way there'd be no need to go hungry."

Taylor kicked Stewart under the table. Stewart did his best to ignore him. "Sounds like you've got everything perfectly planned."

"We'll see." Sting rose to his feet. "I'll meet you by the stables shortly. It should be another blistering day under the sun, so dress appropriately."

"I wonder what else he's got planned," Taylor said after Sting left the room.

Stewart was wondering the same. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

*

The horses obviously knew their way along the trails that led from the stables to the wilder, outlying fields of the estate. Sting took the lead on his grey mare, clearly having a destination in mind as they rode through grassy fields and along the dirt roads between them.

"You holding up there, partner?" Stewart asked Taylor. The younger drummer had a gentle brown gelding who was being quite patient with his less-experienced rider, though Stewart was for the most part keeping his horse at close pace with Taylor's to be sure.

"A-yup. Though I think I'm gonna be walking real funny after a long ride like this."

"That's what you said last night." Stewart winked at him, then urged his horse on for a quick gallop up over the next rise. There he caught up with Sting, looking more ghostly than ever on his grey horse, dressed in thin but covering white linen.

"How's Taylor managing?"

"He's holding up. You?"

"I'll be ready for a break soon." Stewart noticed despite the heat and exertion, there wasn't a drop of sweat on Sting's face, though he did look a little red, and not flushed with blood, either.

"So what is the deal with you and sunlight, anyway? I know you said it just doesn't feel as comfortable as the night."

"Our skin is very sensitive to the light. Burns easily--not the bursting-into-flames sort of business, just the discomforting kind. But it heals itself quickly as well, once we're away from excessive exposure." Sting halted his horse and they both paused for a moment, waiting for Taylor to catch up with them. "There's a lake up ahead, just beyond the treeline past this field. Shall we stop there for a rest?" Sting suggested.

"I'm good with that," Taylor said, shifting in his saddle. "I think my ass is going numb."

"Can't have that, so break-time it is," Stewart agreed, letting Sting once again take the lead.

They soon arrived at the lake to find a beautiful, peaceful, and utterly isolated place devoid of any signs of human life, save a long wooden dock that led out into the calm water and a single old rowboat tied up to the shore. Trees lined both this and the opposite side of the lake, casting perfect green-and-brown reflections down on the still waters. On their side, grass gave way to rocky shallows, the water gently lapping at the shore. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional cries of birds overhead, or a splash as one landed upon the water's surface, either hunting for fish or insects, or taking a cool break itself.

"Talk about getting away from it all..." Stewart took the opportunity to sprawl out on the grass in a shady spot, blinking up at the early afternoon sunlight through the tree leaves. Nearby, the horses were drinking from a water trough while Sting unpacked the food basket, also laying out a blanket for himself to settle upon.

"So what goodies have we got?" Taylor asked eagerly, sitting down crosslegged next to Stewart.

"Looks like various sandwiches...an olive salad..." Sting listed off as he went through the basket contents. "There are some figs that are exceptionally ripe, so don't let them go to waste. And of course some olive oil to dress everything as needed and water for everyone."

"Yummy, yummy." Taylor wasted no time digging in, grabbing one of the sandwiches for himself, opening it up to drizzle a little of the rich oil upon it.

"Go on and help yourselves," Sting said, sitting back on his blanket, under the shade of a large, old tree. "I'm not especially hungry."

"You're not?" Taylor asked, popping an olive in his mouth. "Not even for a nibble? A little bite?"

"Taylor..." Stewart started, but Sting only smirked.

"Told him, did you? It's all right if you did."

"Actually, I didn't have to. He figured it all out on his own."

"Really."

"I'm not stupid," Taylor interrupted, an unexpected sharpness in his voice.

"I never thought you were," Sting replied, his tone also suddenly darker. "Stewart never suffered fools."

"No, apparently I'm the only fool who couldn't figure things out," Stewart put in. Taylor passed him a bottle of water and a sandwich. He took a bite, though in truth his appetite was minimal. He was more concerned by the tension brewing between the other two and being on guard for how this all was going to play out.

"It's not something most any rational person would put together, unless they've had previous experience with our kind. Would that be the case, Taylor?" Sting asked coolly.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just know a bloodsucker when I see one."

Stewart flinched but again, Sting only smiled--not a particularly pleasant smile, granted, but things fell quiet after that for a few minutes. Sting laid back under the large tree, his hat brim down over most of his face as he at least feigned taking a light nap. Stewart and Taylor picked at their lunch, eating mostly in silence.

"Nice work there, T," Stewart finally said under his breath.

Taylor shrugged. "What am I supposed to do, keep acting like I don't know what's going on?"

"No, I just...never mind." Stewart shook his head, yawned and sat back. "I think I could use a nap, myself."

"Not me. That water looks too good, I'm fuckin' hot and I wouldn't mind a swim," Taylor said.

"Go for it, the water's safe," Sting put in, startling them both by suddenly speaking up. "Nothing but some small fish and turtles to be found in there."

"Yeah, all the predators must be land-bound," Taylor said quietly. He pulled his shirt off and looked at Stewart. "Gonna join me?"

"Maybe in a few."

"Suit yourself." Taylor headed toward the water's edge and, with barely a pause, slid out of his pants and underwear, tossing them aside in the grass before running into the shallows. Once he was waist high he dove in, hitting the surface with a splash and a loud whoop.

"How's the water?" Stewart called to him.

"Awesome. Get your ass in here, if you know what's good for you."

"Why don't you go on," Sting encouraged.

"And you?"

"We'll see. I really might just take a quick nap in the shade," he replied, lowering his hat once more down over his face. "You do have me out much earlier than usual today, and the sun was starting to get to me."

Stewart watched Taylor floating lazily on the water's surface. "What the hell," he decided, and then headed to the edge of the wooden dock to start undressing as well. He tucked his glasses into the pocket of his pants before folding them carefully, leaving his clothes in a much neater pile than Taylor's.

The view before him was somewhat fuzzy, now, but he could make out that Taylor had swum a bit further out from shore and was splashing around, waiting for him. Stewart stepped into the shallows, the water lapping at his feet and then up his shins as he made his way over the rocky bottom. The water grew deeper quickly, its coolness refreshing after being under the hot summer sun for hours. Once it was up to his stomach, he dove down, dipping his head underwater for a moment to brace his body, clear his head. Blinking the water out of his eyes, he then started swimming out towards Taylor with slow, lazy strokes, though with his long reach it didn't take him long to catch up with the other man.

Stewart stopped when it seemed he was halfway across the lake, finding he could just touch bottom with his toes. Taylor circled around for a while, then swam up behind him, placing his hands on Stewart's shoulders. "No fair, you're taller than me. I can't touch bottom."

"Sink or swim, Sunshine."

"Nah. Holding on right here'll do just fine."

"Only you're gonna pull me under while you're at it." Stewart pushed off the rocky bottom and glided a little closer in toward the shore, where he could at least get a more solid footing on the slippery rocks. Taylor followed, floating about before finding his own footing, bouncing toe to toe until he could grab onto Stewart as an anchor again.

"That's better."

"I'll say." Taylor clung to Stewart's back, arms wrapped around his chest.

He burped and Stewart scolded, "That's what you get for swimming right after eating. Didn't your momma ever tell you that?"

"Yeah, yeah. Punish me later for being a bad boy."

"In more ways than one today. Though at least the cat's out of the bag as far as Sting's concerned."

"You mean the vampire's out of his bat-cave."

"I don't think he turns into a bat, Taylor."

"I'm not up for finding out one way or another."

Taylor started nuzzling his lips against the back of Stewart's neck, the short stubble of his beard tickling his skin. "Keep that going and you're gonna get _me_ up."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

It wasn't, really. In fact it wasn't bad at all, none of this, relaxing in these tranquil waters in this wonderful, isolated place. Stewart closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, feeling almost weightless as the water buoyed his body, concentrating only on the touch of Taylor's hands on his skin, warm beneath the surface of the water.

"Never screwed in a lake before," Taylor said against his ear.

"Is it even logistically possible?"

"Only one way to find out..."

They were well on their way to finding out when a cold touch to his face pulled Stewart out of his pleasant reverie. His eyes flew open and, startled, he found himself staring right at Sting, floating there in the water before him. Somehow, so quietly Stewart had not heard a thing, he had swum out to join them.

 _Or maybe he turned into a bat and flew out here. Or an insect. Sting a buzzing, flying insect, well that would be appropriate..._  
 __  
Stewart shut off the babbling in his head and tried to come up with something sensical to say. "I thought you were taking a nap."

Taylor lifted his head suddenly from Stewart's neck, as if he too were unaware of their guest until Stewart spoke up. He could feel Taylor's grip on him tensing, and Stewart placed a hand on his arm to hold him steady.

"I was going to, but you looked like you were having much more fun out here. That is, if I'm invited to join you."

"Seems as though you've invited yourself already," Taylor answered.

"No, I only came to ask. I won't stay if I'm not welcome. Just let me know...let me know what it is you'd like..." His voice had that strange musical tone to it, Stewart noticed, like before, when they'd been together out on the balcony. Before Sting had taken his blood. Sting's hand slid down Stewart's face and neck slowly, down beneath the surface of the water to his chest. He ran his fingers over Taylor's hand where it rested, and Stewart could feel Taylor shudder against his back in response.

Stewart supposed he'd known--well, had _wondered_ if, and wasn't exactly surprised now by it--that Sting might try proposing something like this. And he'd been torn between knowing what a bad idea it could be and still craving it, remembering how amazing it had felt that one time before that they'd all been together.

Only then...then it had led to plenty of complications as well. And that was without this vampire business to factor into the mix.

But Stewart was finding it hard to think rationally about these things when here they were, all three alone, Taylor's naked body against him, Sting before him, his ears ringing and something in Sting's voice just throwing him all off-kilter. The touch of his hand, even so cold, the look in his eyes...just the way he _looked._ Stewart's head was buzzing and it took all of his control not to simply cry out, _"I want you, now. Fuck, yes."_

Instead he closed his eyes momentarily to try to calm himself, pushing aside his own desires as best as he could and saying, "It's up to Taylor."

Maybe he was chickening out. Or maybe he was just putting his trust and faith in Taylor to make the right decision when he no longer felt capable of doing so himself.

Sting's gaze shifted over Stewart's shoulder, even as his hand rested still on Taylor's, against Stewart's chest. "Taylor, what is it you most desire, right now?"

"I..." Taylor started, but didn't finish, his touch going slack, softer as he let out a shuddering breath against Stewart's neck. Sting's hand was gliding up Taylor's arm as he moved in closer to them both. "Um...I guess...this is good. Yeah. It's all good."

Taylor's voice sounded strangely far away, not quite like himself. Or was it just the white noise in Stewart's own ears, the way he was starting to feel disoriented, disconnected while still incredibly aroused. What was that Sting had said, about vampires being able to put mortals into a trance-like state? Was he doing that now-- _would_ he do something like that? To them--to _him_?

But then he felt Sting's body slide up against his own, cold and hard, hard in all the right places while his lips were soft, perfectly soft against his own. And after that it was hard to protest, or even remember why he might want to. Taylor's arms remained trapped between them and his mouth was on the back of Stewart's neck again, murmuring something between his kisses but the exact words were lost to Stewart's ears.

"This _is_ good, isn't it?" Sting sighed between heavy kisses. "So good..."

Stewart had no words to answer. Everything was just a flood of sensations, cold and hot, wet and slick, hands and mouths and a burning need for more, more, more of everything. He ached when Sting pulled away from him, gliding through the water to come behind Taylor instead. Stewart slid around in Taylor's arms and saw the look in his brown eyes, hungering too yet somehow distant, lost. Taylor arched back and sighed as Sting started kissing his neck and shoulder, just above the surface of the water. The surface reflected ripples of golden hair, pale skin, refractions and reflections of desire almost dizzying to Stewart's hazy eyes.

It all felt like a dream. Some kind of crazy, erotic dream, and _God, they look so beautiful together_ , he thought, content to simply watch and revel in it for a moment, take in the sight before him.

Then Sting glanced across at him, a flash of that cold fire in his eyes, hunger of a kind much more than sexual in his gaze. Sting pulled back for a moment and Stewart could see the glint of his fangs, now, before he urged Taylor around and to him for a kiss.

Stewart moved up against Taylor's back, reaching around between the others' bodies, finding Taylor's cock as he did so. He was hard and he squirmed delightfully at Stewart's touch, moaning into Sting's kiss.

 _This shouldn't feel so good._

Taylor broke the kiss and turned his head to Stewart, who saw the trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. "Go on, have a taste," Sting told him, as if reading the sudden urge which had overtaken Stewart's thoughts. Stewart pressed his mouth over Taylor's, his tongue seeking the sweet, metallic taste of blood on his lips.

Taylor groaned and writhed against Stewart, shifting back around fully until they were pressed together. His arms about Stewart's shoulders, he lifted himself up, letting their cocks rub and grind together beneath the surface of the water. But he pulled back and gasped, sharp clarity returning to his eyes for a moment--clarity, shock, and pain. Stewart looked and saw Sting's mouth, pressed against the base of Taylor's neck. From where his lips met flesh, a slow trickle of red had started to flow, down his wet shoulder into the water of the lake.

"Tay..." Stewart started.

"Ah, shit..." Taylor sighed, the shock in his eyes, in his body, then starting to melt away. Stewart remembered how it had felt when Sting had first bit him--the initial pain that had faded quickly into deep pleasure, and he could see it having the same effect on Taylor now as his eyes once more went unfocused, mouth open in a silent moan.

"It's all right..." Stewart found himself murmuring against Taylor's lips, kissing him, still tasting traces of blood there where Sting had pricked his tongue. Taylor squirmed between them both, clinging to and clutching at Stewart as Sting fed on him.

 _I wonder how he really tastes...how it would feel to do that to him..._

The thought ran through Stewart's mind, albeit with a touch of guilt--and jealousy. Here was a pleasure Sting could give Taylor that he couldn't--a pleasure he knew exactly how good it felt, one he was craving like mad to feel again. Sting gazed upward at Stewart, then, as he continued feeding, the cold desire in his eyes making Stewart squirm, as if Sting could read his very thoughts at that moment. Stewart swore the vampire would be smirking at him if his mouth wasn't so otherwise occupied.

Taylor's whimpers and sighs grew louder, more insistent, his body pressing against Stewart's in a way that was making his own arousal increasingly more uncomfortable and difficult to restrain. For a moment Taylor gripped Stewart's back even harder, thrusting against him and groaning deeply. Then he dropped his head against Stewart's shoulder with a heavy sigh, resting it there as Sting at last released him.

Stewart's eyes lingered on the bite marks on Taylor's neck, the two small piercings and the blood still trickling out from them. Sting bent his head down to lick at them until the flow began to slow, as Taylor only sighed and moaned softly against Stewart's neck.

Normal color had begun to return to Sting's face, blood washing away both the sunburn and the paleness of his flesh. His touch had warmed, too, as he glided over to Stewart and kissed him. There, again, the taste of blood was on his tongue, coppery and sweet, mixed with the more familiar taste of Sting's mouth.

But Stewart wanted more. He _needed_ more, needed...

"Take Taylor back to the shore," Sting said to him. "Take him there and fuck him. I want to watch you fuck him, now."

The coldness of Sting's demand pulled Stewart out of his dreamlike state for a moment. "Fuck you," he said, bristling.

"Later, if it pleases me."

"This isn't all about what _you_ want."

"Of course not. But I know what _you_ want, Stewart, better than you do yourself. Now let me see you fuck him. Don't you feel compelled to assert your claim on him again? Now that I've had his blood, you need to prove that he's yours again, don't you?"

If Taylor was aware of any of their conversation now, he didn't let on. His eyes were closed as he floated dreamily, holding on to Stewart for support, though even his grasp there was loosening. In his current state it probably _wasn't_ the wisest thing to be out in the lake like this, and goddamned Sting but he was right; Stewart wanted to take him so badly. The need was burning inside of him, as much as he hated Sting for knowing it was there.

"He _is_ mine," Stewart nearly growled at Sting, which only made the vampire smile that dangerous smile once more.

"Of course. So what are you waiting for, then?" Sting asked, pushing himself away, though his eyes lingered on Stewart as he drifted on the water's surface.

 _Damn him. Damn this. Fucking damn me most of all._ "Taylor, you okay?"

"Hmm? Mm hmm..." came a sleepy reply. He was still clearly lost in the haze of Sting's feeding. "S'good right now..."

"Yeah, well, let's get you to shore before you float off and drown."

"Whateverrrr..."

Swimming to shore while towing along Taylor's dead weight was not easy, but fortunately they didn't have too far to go. Once they neared the shallows, Stewart got Taylor to his feet, arm wrapped about his waist for support. "Easy does it."

"Easy-weasy, easy-peasy." Taylor giggled and stumbled along against Stewart's side. He was acting drunk, or high, neither of which was a condition Stewart had ever seen Taylor in before. Somehow they made it back to the shady spot where they'd sat for lunch, Stewart trying to lower Taylor down gently but Taylor just laughed and pulled them both down into a heavy tumble.

"I'm horny as fuck," Taylor said, reaching down for Stewart's cock.

"I can see. You're also stoned out of your head." It figured--been fed on had just made Stewart want to fall asleep, but it had left Taylor loopy and incredibly randy.

"Sting's fault...that vampire shit...fuck...just fuck me, _please_. Need it...Need..."

"Need you," Stewart finished, then kissed him hard, pressing down against his wet, naked body. His lips moved down Taylor's throat, to the base of his neck and the red, swollen skin there and Taylor groaned.

For a moment, Stewart wondered just where Sting had disappeared to. He sat up and looked around, seeing no signs of him anywhere, not out on the water, nor on the shoreline. Taylor whimpered impatiently and tried to pull him back down, desperate for more.

"Hold on...let me just..." As bad as he wanted it, he still had the mind to spot the small bottle of olive oil from their picnic basket and reach over to grab it. _Good enough for now,_ he thought, popping the cork and pooling the warm oil into the palm of his hand, then rubbing it onto his erection. Taylor watched him, glassy eyed, legs spread and waiting. Stewart quickly moved back to Taylor's body, easing his legs up, barely able to take the time to rub the rest of the oil on his hand against Taylor's ass before pushing into him.

"Oh... _fuck,_ " Taylor moaned, his head arching back into the ground, and if his cries were from pain or pleasure, for once Stewart didn't care, couldn't take the time to find out. He just needed to be inside of Taylor's body, feel his warmth, his flesh. Stewart needed to see Taylor's face as he responded to _him_ , to being fucked by _him_.

 _~That's it, Stewart. Take him, hard.~_

The voice hissed somewhere in the air behind Stewart's shoulder, near his ear. Sting's voice, yet when he glanced around he could see no one, nothing there at all.

 _Get out of my head._

But the voice only laughed, and it was as though he could feel Sting's breath, on his skin, the touch of his hands even when he wasn't there.

 _~Not so easy now, love.~_

Stewart tried to ignore it, even as anger and frustration warred with his desire. He tried to think only of Taylor, of the rhythm of their bodies, locked together in desire and passion.

 _This is real. This is us. This is all that matters._

But he couldn't get the coppery taste of blood out of his mouth, heavier with each panted breath. Couldn't stop focusing on the marks on Taylor's skin, thinking of how it would feel to leave marks like that himself, to share the connection of the blood that went beyond this physical act of sex.

 _~You'll never be satisfied with less than what I can give you, and you know it.~_

The taunting words only drove him on harder, thrusting deeper, determined to fuck the voice out of his head, fuck Sting, fuck all of this and just let him have solace in this one thing, in Taylor, the kind of solace and joy he'd always known before.

But it was the ghostly feeling of hands on his back and the brush of needle-sharp teeth on his neck that finally pushed him over the edge, release coming with a sick, twisted feeling in his gut as he collapsed down onto Taylor, his vision turning to red, then black.


	11. Chapter 11

XI.

"... _Shit_."

Stewart coughed, expelling the dirt and dust in his lungs, and blinked open his eyes to see grass and leaves before him.

 _What the hell..._ Had he blacked out? Fallen asleep? He didn't remember...couldn't remember anything as he laid there, trying to find the strength to move, to make sure he was even able to do so.

Carefully rolling over, he found himself looking up at a bright sunlit sky through a canopy of leaves. Taylor was sprawled out beside him, lost to a deep sleep just as he apparently had been, his body naked, his hair damp and matted into the grass. Stewart sat up slowly, trying to put together where they were and what had happened.

It came to him as he squinted out at the lake. He remembered swimming out there, after Taylor. Sting had joined them, and then...

He shivered as the memories flooded back into his brain.

 _Things had gotten a bit out of hand after that, hadn't they?_

He rubbed the side of his neck, the last thing he remembered being a prickling sharp sensation there, but he could find nothing tender nor inflamed. No flecks of dried blood came off on his fingers when he checked them, leaving him only more bewildered.

 _Hallucinating things now? Christ, I must be losing my mind..._

He suddenly felt terribly chilled, even though it was still the heat of the day. Thinking first of Taylor, though, he grabbed the blanket Sting had put down for their picnic lunch and threw it over the sleeping man's body, pausing for a moment afterwards to examine the bite marks that _were_ very distinctly present on Taylor's neck. No figment of his imagination there, at least, though he did not find that at all reassuring.

In fact for a moment fear gripped him as Taylor was lying _so_ still, so completely out of it. He'd seemed okay before, but what if...? Stewart's hand shook as he reached out to touch Taylor's neck, and he only let out the breath he'd been holding once he felt the pulse there, beneath his fingertips, steady and strong.

 _Of course,_ he tried to calm himself. _Sting said they didn't kill. At least, not most of the time._

 _Even so...what the hell have I gotten us both into?_

Stewart got up and walked over to the edge of the lake to sort out their clothes, thankful especially to retrieve his glasses so he could see clearly once again.

"Have yourself a pleasant nap?"

He whipped around at the voice and then sighed when he saw it was Sting, leaning against one of the trees in the shade. He was back in his white linens, looking perfectly composed, calm...and well-fed.

"I wish you'd stop doing that."

"Sorry. Sometimes I forget that my movements can be perceived as unnerving to the human eye."

Sting's "movements" were far from the only things unnerving Stewart. Uncomfortable now in his naked state with Sting's eyes on him, Stewart grabbed his pants and started to hastily get dressed.

"So is this how you get your jollies now, Stingo? Sucking blood and then watching other people fuck? What's the problem, can't keep it up any longer on your own?"

"I can, if I care to. But it's a rather secondary enjoyment these days. Most vampires don't bother except for the amusement of our mortals. It's quite... passé, really, after knowing the pleasure of the blood."

 _"Our mortals?"_ The words, the way Sting had said them, made Stewart a little sick inside. "If you say so," he answered, pulling his shirt over his head.

Sting walked towards him as he finished getting dressed. "You don't know what it's like, Stewart. Sex-- _human_ sex--is nothing but a futile, desperate attempt to join with another, a pale imitation of the intimacy of sharing the blood. I wanted you to understand that, even if my methods might seem cruel. I did not do this out of spite, but because I care about you."

"As always you've got one hell of a way of showing it."

Sting ignored his sarcasm, insisting, "I wanted to share the things I've learned with someone who deserves to know the truth." He reached up and cupped one hand against Stewart's cheek, the intense gaze of his eyes almost painful yet Stewart found it impossible to look away from him. "I know _you_ wish to know these things, too, because I've been deeper inside of you than anyone else. I know things about you, understand you now better than you surely understand yourself..."

"Stop it." Stewart reached up to brush Sting's hand away.

"Taylor as well, since I've tasted him."

" _Don't_." Stewart gripped Sting's wrist, his anger flaring yet Sting didn't even flinch. He only stepped in closer until Stewart could feel his breath on his face with every word.

"Wouldn't you like to be able to know these things? To _taste_ them for yourself? I know you would, I can feel you craving it. And who wouldn't? You want to be with Taylor longer than your mortal life, already running short, will allow, don't you? And for those days you have together to be _good_ ones, not plagued by the ever-looming ills of old age. I know the thoughts that plague you: How much longer you will have. How much longer he'll want to be with you...how much more time you have to do the things you mean to before the human weaknesses of frailty or disease take their toll..."

"You're a bastard, Sting. A fucking, god-damned _bastard_ and you always have been."

Sting ignored his curses. "It doesn't have to be that way, Stewart. You could be free of all these concerns. Forever."

Stewart glared at Sting, but slowly the meaning behind his words began to seep in past his rage. He let go of Sting's wrist and stepped back, shaking his head and folding his arms against his chest. "You're not...you're not suggesting what I _think_ you are..."

"Suggesting, no. I'm _offering_. I could turn you, and I would do it gladly. We could begin immediately, while you're here this week. Stay longer, however long is necessary. I'll show you everything you need to know: teach you how to feed, to hunt, to begin a new life that need not ever have an ending."

"You _are_ mad."

"Am I? Or am I just offering you what you're too afraid to ask for on your own?"

Stewart turned away from Sting, still shaking his head in denial, refusal, even if...

 _...even if on some level he's right, isn't he? That son of a bitch, he's right._

Stewart looked over at Taylor's sleeping form, his thoughts a whirlwind of the things he wanted, the things he feared. The things that seeing Sting as he was now had put in his head these past days, or merely amplified stronger than ever.

A million questions ran through his mind. What _would_ he give to have the time...? To have his youth back, yet with, hopefully, the wiseness of his years? Was it worth the price to be paid? What was it he'd questioned before, of the value of a life without end... What else did the loss of mortality take from the soul, the spirit?

"And Taylor..." he started to ask.

"You could do with as you wish," Sting answered, rather indifferently. "Once you have completed the transformation, you could turn him if you wanted, when you were both ready. I wouldn't stop you; in fact I'd give you my blessing. Then you would be bound by the blood for eternity."

"As I would be bound to you."

"And you would have us both. What more could you ever want than that?"

What more, indeed. And yet...

A vampire. Would it be worth giving up his humanity for what he would gain?

 _Slow down. Think. Think carefully. Don't let him push you or manipulate you when you're already in a state. After all, how long did it take Sting to decide to do this, twenty-five years? You need to stop fucking rushing into things for once, dammit, and be sure you know what you're getting yourself into...or turning down._

He turned back to face Sting. "I have to think about this." He could heard the tremble in his voice as he said the words, not quite believing he was even _considering_ the possibility.

"Of course."

"I don't know if I can give you an answer in the next few days."

"I understand. And I have the time to wait until you're ready, but...I would not wait unduly long. You know I offer this because I love you, Stewart. I can't...it may seem peculiar to you but I do not look forward to a future where you're not somehow a part of my life."

Stewart smirked. "You really _have_ changed."

"Perhaps. As I said, there are many things I understand now that I didn't before. But just think of the possibilities. Think of the music you could create if you had ten, a hundred lifetimes to do it in. The music _we_ could create."

"Together?"

Sting shrugged. "I'd never rule it out."

 _Typical. He'll promise me eternity before he'll promise another album._ "Now you're _really_ playing dirty."

Sting only smiled, gently, fondly--that old smile that still got to Stewart after all these years, the one that was like falling in love all over again. "Just think about it. I'm going to ride some more, then return to the stables. I'll see you at the house later this evening. The horses know their way back, even if you don't. But I'd head back by six at the latest; you don't want to get lost out here after dark."

With that, Sting turned to leave. Stewart watched as he disappeared into the trees, and stood watching for some long time after that. Watching and thinking, wondering whether to bless or curse Sting for the decisions he now faced.

Then he went back to his place beside Taylor, to sit beside him and wait until he awoke.

*

"What the...oh, _fuck_ ," Taylor groaned, stirring at last perhaps an hour later. Stewart had lost track of the time. He rubbed at his face and stretched, grimacing as he did so. "Damn."

"Got that right. You okay?"

"I think so. That was pretty..."

"Fucked up?"

"Yeah. I knew there was a reason I stayed away from vampires. They get you all horned out and blow your mind real good, but the hangover's a fucking _bitch_." Taylor sat up slowly, the blanket falling to his lap as he did so. "Ugh, speaking of vamps...?"

"Sting left a while ago. Here, drink some water."

"Mm, thanks." Taylor took the bottle that Stewart offered him and drank it down greedily, licking his lips when he was done. The late afternoon sun seemed to bring out the freckles on his chest, the golden light of his hair, and he looked so beautiful in that moment it made Stewart ache inside. Taylor turned to look at him and seemed to catch the troubled thoughts on Stewart's mind. "Are _you_ okay?"

"I'm not sure."

Taylor waited for him to continue. Stewart hadn't thought he'd bring it up so soon, but now that Taylor was awake, he found didn't have the willpower not to tell him--in fact it seemed paramount to do so immediately. "While you were asleep, before Sting left...he made me an offer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. To become like him."

"What, a vampire? You? Fuck that," Taylor dismissed with a wave of his hand. "He's fucking crazy."

"That's what I told him. But..."

"But what?" Then he looked at Stewart again and asked, "Wait a minute, you're not...are you seriously thinking about it? Are _you_ crazy?"

"You can't tell me it's not the slightest bit tempting."

"Tempting?! That bloodsucking shit, feeding off of people and fucking with their heads?"

"To not have to worry about growing old. To have the time...all the time you could ever need to do the things you wanted to do." He reached out to touch Taylor's face, wanting-- _wishing_ \--he could make him understand. "To have the time to be with the ones you love."

"And then to watch them die when you leave them all behind?"

"It wouldn't have to be that way, for us."

Taylor's eyes grew wider. "What, you mean, make _me_ one of those things too? I don't fucking think so. _Shit._ " Taylor tossed aside his empty water bottle. "I've already been dead once and you know what that taught me? Just to fuckin' live like every day is the last one I've got. It's not about living forever, it's...making whatever time you've got count. I thought that's what we had going, you know? Living for today...for us."

"It _is_. It's just...what if you didn't have to worry about this ever being that last today?"

"I don't worry about it. You shouldn't either." Taylor leaned over and kissed him. He clasped Stewart's face and kissed him hard, not letting go even when he pulled back and insisted, "I. Love. You. The way you are. I don't want you to change. _I_ don't want to change. Am I getting through to you yet? Don't...don't even start going down that road, all right?"

"Okay, all right. All right." He knew he should listen to Taylor, that everything he said made perfect sense.

And yet...

 _~I know things about you, understand you now better than you surely understand yourself.~_

"Look, no one says we need to make any decisions now. We can just go home at the end of the week and think about it," Stewart said.

Taylor dropped his hands and shook his head. "Thinking about it ain't going to change my mind one damned bit." He got up to his feet, grabbing his pants as he did so to start getting dressed. "But you're right about one thing--we should go home, and the sooner the better. Like, tomorrow, okay? Let's pack up, say bye-bye, and leave Sting to his creepy castle all by himself."

"They don't call them castles in Italy. It's--"

"--A fucking palazzo. Whatever. I don't give a shit. Let's just get _out_ of here. I don't like _him,_ human _or_ vampire, and I hate what he does to you."

"Which is?"

"Doubt yourself. And doubt us."

Stewart bit his lip, but then nodded. "Okay."


	12. Chapter 12

XII.

Stewart and Taylor made it back to the stables shortly before sunset. The horses had known their way confidently along the paths, and, setting a faster pace than earlier, it had been a relatively quick return trip. Stewart was thankful for that.

"Don't know about you, but I'm heading in for a shower," he said to Taylor as they handed off their charges to the stablehand. He felt all mucky, mentally and physically, dirt and grass under his clothes and in his hair, the taste of lake water stale on his lips.

Water and blood.

"I'll be in soon. I need a few minutes out here first." At Stewart's questioning look, he added, "Just want a smoke before going up to the house."

Concern over Taylor's state of mind gave Stewart some pause. He'd been almost completely silent during the ride back, though admittedly after everything that had happened that day--what Sting had done to both of them, but especially, Stewart thought guiltily, to Taylor--he knew they both had to have a lot on their minds. He put his hand on Taylor's shoulder and started, "Tay--"

"I'm fine," Taylor cut him off, brushing aside Stewart's hand. "Really. Go on, I'll be there in a little bit. And don't hog all the hot water 'cause I'm gonna want a shower when I get in, too."

"Okay." Stewart set off on the walk to the house on his own, though he couldn't help but glance back in Taylor's direction a few times along the way, fretting and wondering.

Despite Sting's words about seeing them later, he was nowhere to be found that evening. Which was just as well, Stewart thought, as he wasn't ready to deal with him again quite yet and he didn't think Taylor was in any rush, either. Dinner ended up being a simple, quiet affair as a result, the two of them alone in the dining room, eschewing the outdoors after having seen plenty of it all day. The food was perfect, as always, but neither seemed to have any great appetite for it.

"I'm gonna get on the computer now and see about changing our flight home to tomorrow," Taylor said as they were finishing up.

"If that's what you want to do."

"Isn't it what you want? I mean...we've finally found out what this whole thing is about, which was the whole reason we came here in the first place. Sting wanted to get you here to try to vamp you, plain and simple. It ain't gonna happen, so it's time to go." Taylor paused and shot Stewart a look. "It's _not_ gonna happen, right?"

"Right," Stewart agreed. "Definitely not. But we should still tell Sting we're departing early."

"We'll let him know tomorrow, once we know for sure we can get something booked--though if not we should still get out of here anyway. We can find somewhere else to stay until we can leave. Tonight, I say we get packed up and ready to fly, no matter what."

They did just that after dinner, Stewart taking care of the packing while Taylor worked between the laptop and his cellphone to get their original return booking changed. Their best option seemed to be the noon flight to Paris, with then a connecting flight from there on to Los Angeles.

"We should leave here by eight at the latest tomorrow since we gotta return the car, too," Taylor said as he jotted down the details of their new reservations.

"Sting'll never be up that early to hear the news."

"Tough shit. Leave him a post-it note."

"You're really pissed off right now, aren't you?"

"I have _every fucking right_ to be pissed off!" Taylor slammed his hands against the desk and pushed his chair back angrily. It toppled over as he flew out of it and stormed over to Stewart, fuming, "Fucking pissed out of my skull. Just look at what he's been doing to us!"

"Taylor--"

"No, you listen to me, goddammit!" He grabbed Stewart's shirt, clutching it hard in his hands and shaking him. "He lures us out here and plays games with our heads for days. _Your_ head especially--he's got you in such a state you're not thinking clearly, can't you see that? Then today he puts some kind of whammy on us both and the next thing I know he's got his fangs in my neck and you're telling me he wants to make you like him--just like I _told_ you I thought he might be after yesterday, remember? So fucking _yes_ I'm pissed off! I'm fucking... _Dammit,_ Stewart." His voice was starting to crack as he finished, "He wants to take you away from me, and I'm not going to let him!"

"Easy, easy...take it easy...It's gonna all right..." Stewart pulled Taylor against him tightly, feeling that his whole body had gone stiff and rigid. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without you. _Not without you_ , okay? I love you." Stewart sighed and closed his eyes. _Taylor's right, and I'm being a fool._ "I'm sorry. Sorry about everything..."

Taylor's breathing was rough and ragged against his neck, his entire body feeling like a tightly-wound spring. Stewart tried to keep soothing him, "You're right, this entire business has me twisted all out of shape and I haven't been thinking straight. But I have the sense to realize this: it's time--in fact it's considerably _past_ time--that I wrote Sting out of my life for good. So we get out of here, tomorrow, and that's it. No more. Never again. Agreed?"

Taylor nodded against his neck, sniffling softly. Stewart didn't let go of his hold until he could feel the tension finally beginning to ease out of his body.

"Okay. Better now?"

"Yeah." Taylor eased his arms around Stewart and lifted his head to look at him, eyes red but the anger in them gone. "Just swear to me this is it. Once we're out of here..."

"I swear to God, Allah, or whatever higher authority will bother listening to me anymore," Stewart assured him. "Now help me finish packing so we can get to bed and not miss that flight. And a post-it note in the morning it'll be."

*

There was only one problem: Stewart couldn't sleep.

He'd tried, valiantly, and managed to nod off a few times here and there through the night, but restless thoughts still plagued him and not even Taylor's warm body beside him could soothe them away. He knew Taylor was entirely right about getting out of here sooner rather than later. He, too, didn't care for the games Sting had been playing with them both, didn't like the darkness inside him now that had revealed itself to Stewart at times these past days.

But still...

 _Still he was...he_ ** _is_** _...my friend. My friend and more than that. Can I just walk away from him, the way Trudie did? What if he needs someone, someone to keep him from going down even darker paths now?_ Somehow Stewart didn't think Lauren and her associates were the kind of company Sting should be keeping if he wanted to retain any of his humanity.

 _But you're assuming there's any of it left there to begin with. And he doesn't want you here as his human compass of compassion anyway, he wants...and he says that deep down_ **_you_ ** _want..._

 _No._

No, he had to stop letting his thoughts wander along those lines. Taylor was just this side of a major breakdown and Stewart was beginning to wonder about himself as well. He knew it wasn't wise to dwell on the things that weren't and couldn't be; he needed to be thankful for what he had, to protect it and respect it. Sting had chosen this path for himself, and he had to bear the consequences for it. It was too late for Stewart to save him from that. His only priority now had to be to save himself, and Taylor.

Eyes closed, breathing deeply, he tried pushing his troubled thoughts out of his mind with each expelled breath, hoping the simple meditative technique would allow him to get to sleep at last.

But that's when he began to hear the music.

Soft, so faint he could hardly make it out. At first he thought he was perhaps only dreaming it, that maybe he had managed to drift asleep at last. But when it didn't go away and he realized he was in fact still awake, he sat up and saw that the balcony door was shut, and so was their bedroom door. Yet he could still hear it, the soft sound of an acoustic guitar echoing down the hallway outside.

 _Ignore it_ , he told himself, lying back down. _Pull the covers over your head and block it out._

He tried that, for a while, but now there was no way he could _not_ hear the sound, his ears straining for each note. He knew it wouldn't stop until he got up to find the source, and he knew the source had to be...

 _Don't go,_ said a voice in his head, one that sounded an awful lot like Taylor's.

 _I need to,_ he argued with himself. _In spite of everything, no matter what I said, I'm not leaving him without saying good-bye._

 _He left_ **_you_ ** _before and never said good-bye._

 _That may be, but...I need to do this. I can't just walk away._

Sliding out of bed as quietly as he could, he grabbed his glasses and his robe, making his way then on bare feet to the door. As soon as he opened it, the sound of music grew louder, and he slipped outside to seek the source.

He knew where to go, even without following his ears. The staircase at the end of the hall, where they'd sat and played music the night before. He pushed open the door and found Sting sitting there, this time at the top of the staircase picking out a gentle, sad melody on his guitar. Stewart didn't recognize it beyond knowing it was something Sting must've written himself. It just had that _sound_ to it, that something that always got to him--even if he did then want to turn it all around and speed it up.

"You playing your siren song for me, Stingo?"

Sting looked up at him and smiled. "Just something I've been muddling around with for a while."

Stewart took a seat beside him. "Well, you've certainly got the time for it."

"I've got all the time in the world."

Stewart simply listened as Sting continued on with his playing for several minutes. When he finally stopped, Stewart told him, "Taylor wants us to leave tomorrow. He's all heebie-jeebied about this entire business."

"That's understandable."

"And he doesn't want me to do it. To become...like you."

"Also understandable. What do _you_ want, Stewart?"

"More than anything?"

"Yes."

Stewart paused for a moment, and gave the answer he'd searched his soul for, the one he knew to be his truth. "I don't want to lose him."

Sting nodded. If he was hurt by Stewart's answer, he didn't let it show. And maybe at some other time, in some other place, he would have answered differently. But not now.

"You realize that if you chose differently, you'd always have me. _Always._ "

"Yeah. And an eternity to drive each other fucking insane, right? I'm not sure that's such a great idea."

"It would keep things interesting, wouldn't it?"

"Interesting. I've had about all the 'interesting' in my life I can handle already, mostly thanks to you. Dammit, Sting, you always make things so fucking difficult for me, you know that?" Stewart blurted out, his own frustration and anger finally needing a release. "Fucking _always_. And I think...I really think I've had enough. I love you but...it's enough, now."

Sting set aside his guitar and put his arm around Stewart. He rested his head against Stewart's shoulder and apologized, "I'm sorry. For a lot of things, I'm sorry, Stewart."

"So am I. But we've traveled down that road before, haven't we? A few times there and back and we always end up in the same place: nowhere." He took Sting's free hand, cool to his touch yet still achingly familiar to his fingertips. "We _are_ leaving, tomorrow morning. After that...Taylor's right. I need to let you go. For good this time. I can't...do this any longer."

"So this is good-bye, then."

"I think, all things considered, it has to be."

"Then I won't stop you." He pressed his lips against Stewart's neck for a soft kiss. "I love you and I want you with me, but I won't stop you. You do what you think you must, if you are sure."

 _~I know things about you, understand you now better than you surely understand yourself...~_

Sting's words from that afternoon once more floated back into his mind, leaving Stewart momentarily hesitant where before he'd been so certain. Sting's mouth remained against his skin and he was beginning to have doubts--not so much as far as his decision to leave, but his ability to do so without knowing, one last time, how it felt to share the kind of connection between them that he'd experienced the other night.

Already he could feel his heartbeat quickening and the urge rising within him. Was it just something about being close to Sting, now, something in his touch, his voice? Stewart hoped so, desperate to believe that this unbearable craving would pass once he was far from this place.

But for now...

"Sting?"

"Yes."

"Would you...I mean, before I go, do you want to...?" God, he felt pathetic asking for it and couldn't even finish his request, although it seemed as though he didn't have to. Sting's hand had already turned in his grasp and his fingers were lightly tracing over the veins in Stewart's wrist.

"More than anything. But I shouldn't, not so soon after the last time. Hard enough to control myself then." His lips hovered over Stewart's throat as he spoke, his voice rough from his own desire but still enchanting. "I wanted to drink you in and never let you go. I don't know if I could stop myself a second time."

"I trust you."

"Maybe Taylor is right. Maybe you shouldn't."

"Maybe...but..." Fuck, he hated this, wanting something so bad when he knew it was wrong. "I just...once more."

"You know I won't say no to you." Sting's lips moved up to meet Stewart's, kissing him with all the passion and regret of a lover's last. Stewart felt Sting's fangs descend, sharp and dangerous against his lips and he shivered, though he did not pull away. Desire had turned into a burning _need_ , all doubts and hesitation melting away.

Sting released him, his hand sliding down Stewart's chest and his eyes shining bright in the soft light of the stairwell. "I hear your heartbeat...I can _feel_ it, Stewart. You have no idea how it calls to me. How much I want this...want you..."

"Do it... _please_..."

Sting's lips returned to his neck and Stewart arched back, offering it to him eagerly. And when those fangs pierced his flesh, he didn't cry out this time at the pain, only sighed, everything fading out around him except Sting's mouth, on his throat, his arms, holding Stewart's body. The warmth of contact exploded inside him, more intense even than before. He felt the rush go straight to his head, leaving him dizzy, feeling as if he was spiraling down into some deep abyss even as he knew on some level of consciousness that he was still simply sitting there, held in Sting's arms.

 _~drink you in, never let you go...~_

 _Never...don't stop..._

There was no pain, no anger, no frustration now, only that giddy rush and a flood of euphoric delight. So much more than sexual contact, this was the giving of life--his life, his blood to Sting, a willing offering for the gift of impossible pleasure in return.

And now, even, his mind was flooded with joyous memories from the past, as if Sting were pulling them from his subconscious as he drank the blood from his body. Stewart could recall in perfect clarity the excitement he'd felt, the first time they'd met...the anticipation and wonder the first time they'd kissed. The happiness of the days when they could spend the hours between shows together, content in each other's company and dreams of the future. All of the good things, the perfect little moments, smiles and touches and triumphs shared--they were there before him now as if they were just happening, as if time had lost all meaning and he could step back into any of those moments and experience them once again.

More than that, he could feel Sting with him, _inside_ these memories and sharing each moment. He could feel his love, all the emotions they'd sometimes found so difficult to express as the years had gone by changed so much, success seemingly destroying what had brought them together in the first place.

But it never had, not entirely.

 _~I never stopped loving you.~_

 _...don't stop..._

Specific memories eventually began to slip away from Stewart's mind, but he was left in a pleasant state of complete comfort and warmth, peace and contentment. He could stay in this place forever, wherever or whatever it might be. Maybe this was what dying was like, he thought idly, and maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Maybe this was the best way to meet it, carried gently across in an old love's embrace. Nothing to fear, nothing to worry about, not now, not ever again.

Only something was trying to disrupt his gentle passage into the beckoning darkness. Someone calling his name, repeatedly, but he felt too tired, too far gone to respond. So very tired...and all he wanted was sleep. He could feel himself slipping away from his body, shedding it like a useless, unnecessary burden.

 _"Stewart, dammit! Answer me! Oh, Christ..._ **_Stewart_ ** _!"_

The voice...he knew it belonged to Sting, but Stewart couldn't understand why he sounded so upset. There was nothing wrong, he felt wonderful...just tired. And anyway, it didn't matter, not now. He couldn't bring himself to care about what might be wrong when to him, everything felt so _right_.

Even breathing was becoming more laborious than he could be bothered with. _Sleep..._ was all he kept thinking, feeling ever more weightless and disconnected from it all by the second. _Sleep, and none of this will matter. Everything will be all right...forever..._

Suddenly he was shocked out of his pleasant reverie and back into his body by the unpleasant sensation of something hot and thick filling his mouth. He swallowed on instinct to keep from choking and tried to spit out the rest, but something was jammed against his mouth, stopping him. He tried to fight it off in panic but found he was too weak, that he couldn't do much but try to turn his head away.

"Don't fight me, Stewart! Take it!"

Eyes flickering open, he saw Sting hunched over him, the vampire pressing his wrist over Stewart's mouth. There was blood running down Sting's arm and panic in his eyes as he insisted, "Take my blood, now! Do it or else you're going to die. Stewart, please, just a little...it won't turn you if you take a little, but you'll live. You'll live, Stewart. Please..."

The words barely registered on his muddled brain, but Stewart did as he was told. He had no real choice; it was either swallow or gag from the thick fluid continuing to fill his mouth as he lay slumped against Sting, weak and, he realized now, dying.

"That's it, just a little more. I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to take so much...I just couldn't stop..."

Stewart heard him, though he wasn't really listening. Full consciousness was returning to him quickly, but as it did he could focus only on one thing: Sting's blood, the taste of it like nothing he'd ever known. Warm and rich, like the sweetest liqueur, like honey and wine and none of them and nothing but pure _life._ And he could already feel it doing... _something_ to him, something shifting in his perceptions and awareness with each moment. Alertness surged through him like an electric shock through his nervous system, the gentle call of death replaced by an intense need to live.

"That's enough," he heard Sting say, but Sting was not making the effort to release him and Stewart had no desire at that moment to let go. He clutched at Sting's wrist now, not letting the fluid passively flow past his lips any longer but sucking hungrily at it for for more. _Take me, be me,_ the blood seemed to be saying to him, chanting like a tribal call. _Stay with me forever..._

 _Stay..._

A gasp, and then a heavy sigh.

 _~Yes.~_

Then he heard a scream.

Sting's, his own, someone else's...Stewart couldn't be sure. He only knew that suddenly the connection between them was severed as if by violent force, tearing Sting from his grasp. Something heavy went toppling over him, slamming him headfirst into the steps and nearly pulling him down as well. Only through his suddenly hyper-alert senses did he have the instinct to grab at the staircase railing to stop himself from falling, clutching it as his legs swung out and he spun around, scrambling for a foothold.

What he saw then played out in sickening slow-motion before his eyes.

That something tumbling over him now was bouncing down and round the steps like a giant rag doll. Was that...Sting? _Can't be..._ he thought, horrified, but there was the sickening thud as his body landed at the bottom, limbs twisted and splayed out at impossible angles. He lay there face down on the floor, a red stain spreading across the back of his shirt, where--not a knife, but something else--protruded from it.

A spike?

 _A wooden spike. A wooden spike, and the blood, and he's laying there and he's not moving and oh god what happened oh my god--_

" _Now_ it's fucking over."

Stewart pulled his eyes from the terrible sight, whipping his head around at the voice. Taylor stood at the top of the steps behind him, staring coolly down at the vampire's body below. His right hand gripped a roughly carved spike of wood, similar to the one stuck now in Sting's back.

"Fucking vampires shouldn't live so close to a fucking forest," Taylor explained in a flat voice as he turned his gaze to meet Stewart's. "Too many trees."

Stewart could say nothing, could not quite process what had just happened--a _ny_ of it. He struggled to his feet, head spinning from the rush of blood, his confusion, and an inability to accept in his brain what he saw with his eyes.

Sting. Sting was lying there, dead.

Taylor had killed him.

And it was all his fault.

His vision began to waver and he felt for a moment as if he were about to pass out. But something inside of him switched on, then, not unlike the sensation he'd felt when Sting's blood had first hit his system. It...was like a buzzing in his brain, growing stronger as he looked down once more at Sting's body.

"I don't think he's dead." Stewart wasn't sure _how_ he knew it, he just did. And he wasn't sure if he was relieved by this knowledge or even more horrified than before. "I don't think you killed him."

 _He's wounded, yes, badly, yes. Oh my god. But I feel...I still_ **_feel_ ** _him..._

"Well, shit. Should I try again?" Taylor raised his spike, ready to charge down the stairs to strike again.

"No!" Stewart flung out an arm to stop him. The buzzing in his head wouldn't stop. It only seemed to be getting louder, it seemed to be...

"Oh, all right," Taylor sulked. "I just wanted to give us enough time to get out of here. Which is what we're doing. NOW. Okay?"

"Okay. Okay..." Stewart rubbed his face, trying to calm himself. Trying to understand what was happening, trying to quiet the persistent noise inside his skull. When he pulled his hands away, there was blood on his fingers. Blood on his robe. He stared at it, not knowing whose it was: his, or Sting's...

Taylor noticed it too, his eyes widening. "Aw _shit_ , Stewart, you _didn't_..."

But Stewart's head was all fuzzy. What exactly _had_ happened? He had a hard time remembering, a hard time thinking about anything other than the body at the bottom of the steps and trying to silence the buzzing in his brain. "What did I...? No. Not...I...I didn't. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. Stewart...what the hell was going on?!"

Deep breaths. _Think. Remember._ Why was it so hard to remember now? He gripped the staircase railing to steady himself. "I just wanted...went to find him to say good-bye..."

 _~...I don't know if I could stop myself a second time...~_

"Next thing I remember, Sting, he's...my neck and..."

 _~...it won't turn you if you take a little...~_

"Jesus, Stewart, I told you to leave a fucking post-it!" Taylor shook his head, reaching up to touch Stewart's face, concern replacing the coldness that had been in his eyes until then. "You're still bleeding...looks like he got you pretty deep." Taylor's hand went to Stewart's neck. "You really look bad. Maybe we should get you to a hospital."

"I don't...I don't need a hospital..." He closed his eyes for a moment, the buzzing almost unbearable as it grew louder and solidified into a voice crying out to him--

 _~ **Stewart!**...please...~_

"We'll see about that. But let's get _out_ of here and away from _him_. Come on..."

Taylor grabbed Stewart around the waist, turning him and offering support as he urged them both toward the door. Stewart glanced back once, his head still spinning, still hearing Sting's voice in his ears, his mind, demanding, begging, pleading.

 _~Stewart...I need you...don't go...don't...~_

But it was too late to do anything about it now. Too late, and he was too weak and confused to do a thing but let Taylor lead him from this nightmarish scene, out of the darkness and away from the haunting voice echoing inside his head.

 _Over. I wanted this to be over, but not like this._ **_Never_ ** _like this..._

 _Oh my god...what have I done?_


	13. Chapter 13

XIII.

Taylor managed to get Stewart and all of their things packed into the car swiftly, as if he'd had their escape planned out in advance. He very well might have, Stewart thought, given how calm and organized he was being. The fact that he'd killed--or at least attempted to kill--someone just barely an hour before seemed to give him absolutely no pause as they sped on through the darkness of the early morning hours toward the Florence airport.

"The travel agent last night told me there's a seven a.m. direct flight to LAX," Taylor was saying to him. "I didn't think we'd be able to get there in time for it before, but it's only four now. Maybe we'll be lucky and be able to switch flights again. That is, if you really don't think you need to get to the hospital first..."

"No, no hospital, Taylor. Let's just get to the airport and get home."

"As long as you're sure. I don't like the way you look, and you could've lost a lot of blood." Taylor took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced across at him.

"I'm sure. Believe me, I'd tell you otherwise if I thought it was necessary." The intense disorientation and shock he'd been suffering had faded almost as soon as they'd left the house, and physically he was actually feeling fine now. Whatever he'd taken in of Sting's blood had certainly pulled him back from the brink of what he realized was certain death, revitalizing him even after the severe blood loss. The wounds to his neck had stopped bleeding and, with his jacket collar pulled up high, there was no evidence of them to be seen.

More importantly, the buzzing in his skull had stopped. He wasn't hearing Sting's voice in there any longer, only the sound of the car's engine humming along and Taylor's voice when he spoke. Maybe he'd just been hallucinating that anyway, he was beginning to wonder. Everything that had happened was still a bit of a blur in his mind, and would probably remain as such until he'd had enough time to begin to process it all.

"We'll be there soon. Another fifteen minutes according to the GPS."

"Good. Let's keep our fingers crossed about that early flight."

*

They made it to the airport just as the ticket counters opened. Changing their booking yet again took a little work and wheedling from Taylor, and a hefty price tag, but they managed to get it done. They breezed through security as they'd beaten most of the morning passengers with their early arrival, and even the guards themselves seemed too sleepy yet to bother much with a pair of American _turisti_.

Some time to kill before boarding would begin, they grabbed a table at the café near their gate as it was opening for the day. Taylor went to get them something to eat and drink, Stewart marveling again at his complete composure and ability to take charge of everything they'd needed to do this morning. Stewart knew he was in no condition to do so himself.

Taylor returned to the table with several pastries and two coffee drinks. "Are you _sure_ you're okay?" he pressed, for about the hundredth time since they'd fled Sting's estate. "It's a long flight and you still look pretty out of it. Maybe we should have just gotten a room in the city for the day, to fly out tomorrow instead..."

"I'm fine. Really. Thanks to you."

Taylor gave him a small smile at that, but it faded before he asked, "You really don't think I killed him, though?"

"I have no idea," Stewart answered truthfully. "Sting never told me exactly what _would_ kill a vampire. All he said was that a lot of the old legends and myths about vampires weren't true. We certainly saw some of that ourselves, so I'm not sure a spike would do the trick." He left out the rest of his reasons for thinking Sting was not entirely down for the count.

"Yeah. Shit." Taylor frowned. "If he's not dead he's probably pretty pissed at me."

"I wouldn't doubt it." Stewart looked down at his cup of _Americano_ , savoring its warmth in his hands more than he really felt like drinking it at the moment. "Even so, I'm sure he'll think twice about trying anything again after that."

"If he does, next time I'll shove a fucking drumstick up his ass, if a spike to the heart doesn't work. A splintered stick. Stewart...why did you go to him last night, really? I thought we'd agreed that we were just gonna get out of there and that you and him, it was finished."

"We did. And we were. Are." Stewart sighed. "It's...all kind of hazy in my mind right now. But I know...I went to find him, and tell him my answer was no. I know what we talked about and I hadn't changed my mind, but I couldn't leave without explaining myself. I didn't want there to be any more loose ends between us, because that was half the reason we'd had such a fucked-up relationship for the last twenty-odd years.

"I found him in the stairwell, told him we'd discussed things and that I wasn't going to do it, and we were leaving." He paused for a moment, uncomfortable at thinking back on what had happened next. "I made a mistake, then, and I can't put the blame on anyone but myself. He didn't 'whammy' me or anything like that. I asked him to...one more time."

"What, some kind of last bite for the road?"

"Something like that." Stewart shook his head. "Stupid, I know. And...I guess things got a little out of hand after that."

" _He_ got out of hand, you mean." Taylor picked up his croissant and peeled apart the flaky layers. "All _I_ knew was that I woke up and you were gone, which meant something had to be wrong. I thought maybe you'd changed your mind, and that you were going to let him vamp you. I'd been worrying about that, so no matter what you said...I'd made myself a back-up plan. Remember when you left me by the stables last night?"

"Yeah..."

"That's when I grabbed a couple pieces of wood and borrowed some tools, made those spikes up real quick to keep on hand," Taylor confessed.

"Sneaky."

"No, just protecting my ass. And yours. Good thing, too. I grabbed them before I went looking for you. I heard Sting's voice, found you both on the steps...saw him leaning over you and I...I did what I thought I had to do. I had it in my head that he was going to kill you or make you one of them, and either way...fuck if I was gonna let that happen."

Stewart smiled and reached over to brush a strand of blond hair out of Taylor's face. "That's why I love you, kiddo. Because I can be the biggest boneheaded idiot in the universe, and yet for some reason you still care about me enough to go out sharpening spikes and taking down vampires out after my neck."

"You mean I'm not just a pretty face and a good fuck?"

"Far from it--though neither of those attributes hurt." More seriously, Stewart added, "But I pray you can forgive me for letting him get to me the way he did."

"I told you he was fucking with your head. Hopefully for the last time, this time." A spark of Taylor's usual good humor returned to his eyes as he said, "And I'll find some way you can make it up to me when we get home-- _after_ you're done giving the dogs their baths. Remember? Ain't letting you off the hook on that."

"Taylor, for you I'd wash the dogs with fucking bells on."

"And nothing else?"

"...If it makes you happy, why not?"

"Sweet." Taylor gave him a wolfish grin, though he turned serious once more to add, "But swear to me you're all right, because--"

"I'm fine! Really! Look at me, I'm a picture of health!" Stewart held up his hands and waved his arms around.

"I just figured you should be weak and all after..."

"I'm. Fine. Taylor. Please," Stewart insisted. "Maybe it's the adrenaline. It'll probably wear off in a while and I'll sleep like dog the whole flight. But I'm. Perfectly. Fine. So please, stop worrying."

"Okay, okay. Now aren't you going to eat anything? At least get some sugar in you."

"Yes, mother." Stewart picked up his brioche and bit into it dutifully, powdered sugar coating his lips as the cream inside burst onto his tongue.

Satisfied, Taylor got up and said, "I'm getting a refill before the flight and a couple bottles of water. You want more?"

"Nah, I need to sleep, remember? One shot of caffeine is enough." Stewart took another bite, although for whatever reason the pastry tasted a little sour to him instead of sweet, not as appealing as he thought it should. He wondered if it was stale, or a bit off, as the cold vanilla cream filling was sort of turning his stomach. Maybe it simply wasn't what he was really in the mood for and he could use something warmer and more satisfying.

 _Like fresh blood on your lips...Sting's blood, full of life, and heat, and..._

Fuck, where had _that_ come from? He pushed the thought out of his mind as he put the rest of the pastry back on his plate, disturbed by how it had come upon him so suddenly. He knew he had to try to forget about that--about the things that had happened which he hadn't told Taylor. The things he _couldn't_ tell Taylor, like how the only reason he was alive and okay right now was that he'd taken some of Sting's blood.

And he _was_ okay, wasn't he?

 _~....it won't turn you if you take a little...~_

Only he couldn't really remember how much he _had_ taken, that was the troubling thing. Sting hadn't exactly tried to stop him, either, not very hard at least. He'd probably known, probably had _hoped_ Stewart wouldn't be able to stop on his own. As he struggled to recall precisely what had happened, the realization hit him that Sting could have taken too much of his blood on purpose and not from lack of control as he'd claimed, in order to force Stewart to make his choice in a weakened state, or to die.

 _Thank god for Taylor,_ was all Stewart could think. He knew he owed his life--literally--to him now, and it was a debt he wasn't sure he could ever repay. If Taylor hadn't come along when he had and stopped things, it might have been too late.

 _If it isn't already...how do you know for sure?_ he questioned himself nervously. What if he _had_ taken too much of Sting's blood?

 _He said it was a process, don't forget. That it took time for the change to happen...maybe it's happening right now and you don't even know it..._

No, he wasn't going to let himself think like that. After all, Sting also had said vampirism usually required multiple exposures to take hold.

 _Usually._

For all Stewart knew, he might even be like Trudie--immune to it.

 _But for all you know, you're not._

"You ready?" Stewart was pulled out of his anxious thoughts by Taylor's hand on his back. "I think I heard them call boarding."

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go home."

He got up and followed Taylor out to the gate area where the rest of the bleary-eyed morning passengers were waiting. They were soon on board and nestled in the comfort of their first class accommodations, Taylor claiming the window seat.

"Feels like we just did this," he said.

"We did--a few days ago," Stewart reminded him.

"Oh, right. How many hours until we're home?" Taylor asked, settling in with his pillow against Stewart's shoulder and making a cocoon out of his blanket.

"Something like fourteen, I think."

"Oh god. I should have had a smoke before the flight."

"You'll survive." Stewart kissed the top of his head lightly and said, "Just get some rest."

"You too."

"I will."

Of course, Taylor was out like a light before the plane had even taken off. Not that Stewart minded; it felt good, and right, to have him here, close. Just the two of them. The way it should be. He had no doubts about that, and knew he never should have doubted it in the first place.

Whatever happened to Sting now...it wasn't their problem. It wasn't _his_ problem. Sting had made the choice to give up the life he'd had and chase eternal youth and immortality, no matter what the price. When his shock finally passed, Stewart knew he would grieve for him, but the truth he had to accept was that Sting had died some time long before last night--the old Sting, the one he'd known...the one he'd loved. Whatever... _whom_ ever they'd spent the past few days with was not the same person, even if at times he'd seemed it. Even if he'd made Stewart experience incredible things--offered him opportunities he'd never dreamed possible--in the end, Taylor was right. It wasn't worth the cost. It wasn't what he wanted, no matter what Sting had said or how hard he'd tried to convince him otherwise. Stewart knew he had everything he wanted right here, and he'd never let himself doubt that ever again. Secure and content with Taylor beside him, he closed his eyes and concentrated on simply trying to get some much needed rest.

 _I've never needed a vacation after a vacation more in my life. But this time I'll take it close to home. After all, there's no place like it, as Dorothy would say..._

Only something wasn't quite right, Stewart realized as he relaxed and tried to tune out the fight attendants and other passengers seated around them. Something was wrong--a sound in his ears, soft yet steady, creeping into his consciousness even over the roar of the jet engines. It took a while for him to pinpoint exactly what it was, and when he did his blood immediately turned to ice.

He could hear the beating of Taylor's heart.

*

 _end_


End file.
